All the Horrible Girliness

So this is what it is.

When I told the doctor in Newport that I was moving she said, "Better now than..." and I interrupted her with, "than with a newborn," but she shook her head and said, "than the third trimester."

But I know better. Women all over the world, pregnant and bent over to work. Women whose husbands make tree houses for their pregnant wives, so when the elephants attack, the women can climb up to safety. My mom-in-law, who taught school. My trainer's mother, who swam every day. The lady in my old spinning class with her enormous belly. All of these, you add "until the day they gave birth" to the end of their sentences. I can't even shop at Ikea, have lunch out, and read a little without being incapacitated. Light bulb always flickering.

Today the frame of our first bed is being delivered. I have an hour before the delivery window begins. If I could just pick up dinner and swim a little and shower, I could lay down again with the phone close to my ear.

I fell asleep on the couch, on my left side like the new doctor said, and while I slept my blood went pouring into my uterus, feeding the little belly that is a week behind. When the doctor said he was concerned I wasn't resting enough, I said it was hard to sleep for all the bathroom breaks, and he said he wasn't worried about me sleeping so much as resting. Two hours every afternoon, he told me, and my mom-in-law, who stood on her feet teaching every day including the day she gave birth, she nodded as if she'd been bothering me for months about working too hard. Which she has. But she's been wrong every time.

Maybe by this weekend, Mister Aran and I will sleep together on our first bed.

posted by Samus @ 2:53 PM