It’s important to remember that while pregnant, you are your child’s entire world. It somewhat eases the pain of becoming a small planet.
As a new celestial body, I naturally possess a powerful gravitational pull. Crumbs are especially vulnerable; being dragged deeply into the black hole that is my ever-expanding cleavage.
I tell you, I cannot get through a meal without doing something disgusting. Yesterday a small cube of cooked chicken wound up so deep in my outfit it was publicly irretrievable. The day before I missed my mouth not once but twice, spilling ginger beer all over myself. And don’t get me started on the mucus production. Every time I laugh, some food-laden spittle comes flying out of my mouth like a small asteroid.
You simply can’t take me anywhere.
Hiding out at home is not without its perils either. With an altered depth perception, my house has become a veritable obstacle course. I’ve taken to examining my legs nightly, trying fruitlessly to recall the origins of each fresh black and blue.
After that, I grease my rings to remove them from my sausage fingers and carefully lower myself into the docking station that is my full-body pillow.
But through it all, there is one undeniable truth: stained clothes, bloated limbs and bruised legs get old; but the joy of feeling your baby move about the world you’ve made him is forever.
“Say good morning Bobby” I greet my husband each day.
“Good morning, baby boy!” he says with the sweetest belly kiss.
And with that I’m off to tackle another rotation – grossing twenty-somethings out of reproducing one lunch break at a time.