37 weeks and 1 day pregnant. My waddle would give any duck a challenge. I am large. Being pregnant is a very strange kind of large. Not the woes of “skinny” jeans leaving marks on your skin. It is not puckering the chest of a really cute top. It is not busting (yes, literally) out of a bra. No, pregnancy hugeness feels like your abdomen might detach and walk away on its own. (Some days I pray it will do that.) For that brief, sleepy moment forget you are pregnant and try to roll over the huge abdomen reminds you it is still there. My life now has an audio track of grunts as I move.
Don’t get me wrong. I am ecstatic to be pregant. I am beyond excited to meet my girl. But I do not enjoy pregnancy. (If you don’t believe me, ask my husband. I tell him frequently.) Some people love the feeling of being pregnant. It is the best time of their lives. Not me. Even the kicks, which are exciting at first, seem slightly alien. And, now she seems to be working on her escape by rubbing through my belly.
I have a scheduled c-section in two weeks. Unless, as everyone with an opinion (which is everyone) reminds me, she decides to come early. What I know is that on August 10 I will no longer be pregnant. For that matter, by noon on August 9 I will no longer be pregnant. And, I will be less huge.
Fall won’t be far away. I will be running again.
Did I mention I won’t be so huge?