I Love my Tits!

25 Weeks

I'm indisputably pregnant. Strangers are giving up their seats up on the bus, yoga teachers approach me with fear and hesitation, and none of my pants fit without an elastic band through the buttonhole and an unzipped fly.   

So I figure I should write this shit down. Apparently new Mom's forget everything once the baby is born. Probably a good thing. If we remembered every scary, awkward, smelly and downright painful moment of our 9 months of incubating, we'd probably think twice before saying, oh fuck it honey... let's see what happens just one more time! 

Not that I'm complaining. I feel extremely lucky. I became pregnant at 35, the one and only time I had unprotected sex with my husband. I slept through my first trimester, about 12-15 hours a night, and was fortunate to be able to do so without stressing about work or taking care of kids. I only puked once, and that's because I didn't realize I was pregnant, drank a beer and slept 5 hours before waking up for work. After my morning cleansing ritual of lemon water and manuka honey, I promptly barfed honey-flavored-lemon-bile all over my favourite sexy pj's. I never barf, even in the old days when I drank a case of bear and stayed up for 2 days. My baby was like, nope! No more beers for you bitch! And that's when I knew my life would never be the same again.

The only real inconveniences so far are:

1. Waking up slightly more than normal to pee. The baby is sitting low, and enjoys back-flipping on my bladder especially at around 4am. 
2. Sometimes I wake up inconsolable hungry and have to eat a container of cold porridge before I can get back to sleep. 
3. I also suffer a searing pain in my hip sockets when I stand or roll over in bed that feels like someone's sticking a red hot penis into the very center of my butt cheek. It really takes my breath away, but the pain will pass I'm told. Just like everything else.

I've escaped many of the ailments that I read about on birthing blogs. No vice-like leg cramps, no bladder or kidney infections, no incurable heart burn, no lack of mobility-- despite the searing penis pain in my hips I can still run, do yoga, TRX class and Pilates with some modification. No overwhelming weight gain, no swollen hands or feet, no weird unhealthy cravings, and no persevering thoughts of murder or suicide. Touch wood, I sure hope my luck lasts.

Did I also mention I love my tits? I've never had bigger than an 'A' cup before so it's all very new and exciting. I plan to wear as many cleavage plunging tops and slut it up while I can before the baby sucks all the milk out of me and leaves me with a pair of rocks in socks. Boobs are fun and I'll miss them when they're gone.

On a more profound note, I'd like to take a moment to talk about love. 

I thought I knew about love. I'm married. I have beyond amazing friends and family, the coolest cat in the universe. I've meditated (and medicated) myself into ecstatic states, practiced yoga every day for most of my adult life. I've slept under the stars and swam in oceans so clean and calm I felt like I was swimming through a mirror into another dimension. I've traveled the word and met people that are so beautiful and awe inspiring that I cry when I think about them. But I swear on my heavenly breasts as soon as I became pregnant I felt like someone made a serum of pure, clean, bright, unconditional love juice and injected it into my veins. It's a love that I didn't think was possible, and wonder if it would have been possible had I never become pregnant. 

Now I want to make it clear that it's not just that I love my 'baby'. To be honest, the idea that the squirming sensation in my guts is something other than gas is still a bit surreal. No. It's the realization that love is at the center of my being. It's not only the life-force growing in my uterus... it's who I am. It's me. All my dry cynicism aside, love is the gift I receive. Love makes all the heady bullshit, all the self doubt, worry, anxiety, expectations, regret and stabby penis hips absolutely laughable. After all, what's the point of life if not to learn how to love uncontrollably? And what's the point of loving uncontrollably if you can't spread it around? Giving up my body so I can give the gift of life, and therefore love, to someone else? That's the most crazy profound shit there is.

Babies are great, but love is the biggest gift of all friends.


ps i love my tits!!!