Stretch marks. Varicose veins. My dreams of being a thong bikini model are officially shot.

35 weeks, 4 days

Just when you think you’ve come to terms with a change in your body or a new symptom, your body decides it’s time for a fresh, new, humiliating and uncomfortable twist.

Last week I got to my tipping point with the hot flashes. I had been wearing short sleeve or sleeveless shirts, spending all day at work barefoot and guzzling cold water but still I would sweat all day. Coupled with the oft-mentioned and ever-present hormones, I was nothing short of a hot tranny mess by the end of the day. That night I went home, barely greeted TJ when I walked in the door (he can tell when it’s better to leave me alone in about .05 seconds) and sat my ass down at the kitchen table. I ended up watching birthing videos on YouTube, subsequently bawled my eyes out when every baby was born, and when I had cried myself dry, felt much better knowing that the end was in sight and that all of the trials and tribulations weren’t for naught. Whew, successful self-soothing complete.

This weekend, BK was looking for some stretching room (things are getting tight in there) and found a lovely little foot-sized space directly under my left rib cage. Being a twitchy soul in general, he/she kicks my left lung on the reg and makes breathing from that organ somewhat challenging, as you might imagine. Anyway, I learned how to persuade the feet out of the space every now and then and for a few minutes I can get on with my life whilst breathing normally.

Two days ago, TJ and I were putting together one of the dressers in the baby’s room. For those curious, it’s a Summer Infant model and it came completely disassembled. I was actually ok with this because it meant that I could be helpful putting it together since none of the components were that large. I manned the instruction booklet, wielded a bottle of wood glue and held pieces in place. Still, at the end of the assembly, I could barely bend over thanks to some pretty sweet hip/sciatic pain down my right leg. Consider me recused from the remainder of the furniture assembly projects. The dresser looks awesome, btw.

Last night I worked on thank-you cards for the baby shower gifts and sorted baby laundry while watching terrible evening programming on Bravo. Took it easy, you know?  I wasn’t hot, there were no appendages abusing my vital organs, my back felt ok and I was doing pretty good in general. Decided I’d take a long hot shower. Was horrified to discover after catching a glimpse of my derriere in the bathroom mirror that I have SOMETHING on my bum. A skin thing. Since I can’t really get a good look back there, I can only assume it’s one of two things: stretch marks or varicose veins. A lot of them, and not where you’d expect them. Color me mortified, friends.

Seriously, leave it to that betch Mother Nature to choose the body part about which you have the most girly-insecurity/body image distortion issues and make it worse. My imagination is blowing this out of proportion I’m sure, but come on! I can’t even get a good look to see what’s going on so that means I’ve got to a.) ask TJ to look (awk) or b.) ask my OB to look (more awk). The OB is a clinician and all that blah blah blah, but I haven’t actually had this baby yet so I still feel a good amount of weirdness when other people are examining my nether regions.

For those of you that think these types of things are a badge of honor, spare me the lecture because I’m not ready to hear it. I’m stuck in the selfish phase so leave me alone about it. It’s a good thing I never had my heart set on wearing a thong bikini bottom, you guys. My dreams as a post-maternity underwear model are gonzo.

Anyway, in much happier news, we had the baby shower this past weekend and the families and friends Kelly/Hanley and Johnson/Nash were amazing as usual. Once again I’m completely overwhelmed by their generosity. Check out the current state of the living room:

Baby Shower Gifts.

Also exciting is that I’ve gone from not really feeling connected to BK to wanting to meet the little bugger, and soon. Have to admit though, I would be lying if I told you that a very large portion of that excitement isn’t simply to get the feet out of my left lung.



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