I don’t know that I’ve formally announced this here: I am pregnant and now on the home stretch.
I know I’m on the home stretch for several reasons: My face, along with my arms, legs, ankles, and back–yes, I said back–are looking pregnant, too. Pregnancy has always been a total body experience for me. Despite the fact that I try to stick to a 2 mile a day walking regimen, my body has decided to reward that effort with swollen extremities and all-over gushiness. If you happen to be one of those women who fails to look pregnant even in the third trimester except from the side, I hate you. (I’m just kidding, sort of.)
The only consolation I have is that it is bitterly cold, and I need not wear anything that exposes any of my pasty and dimpled form. I am sure this is of great consolation to others, as well.
I did recently indulge in the one activity that is every pregnant woman’s best friend: Swimming. Buoyancy is a wonderful thing when you are carrying around an extra 25 pounds. We were staying at a hotel, and I threw caution to the wind and decided that I would swim with the family despite the horrors of donning a bathing suit. I hurriedly ditched my t-shirt and slipped into the water as quickly as possible. The water was wonderful, and I was sluicing around happily, feeling delightfully weightless and unfettered. It was at this point that David pointed to the deep end of the pool, and to the sign affixed to the wall above it: “Underwater viewing from restaurant.” I came to the horrifying realization that I was still, in fact, visible to people. And these poor people–who were trying to ingest food–were subjected to the sight of a very pregnant person floating around the water, rather like a manatee, also aptly known as a “sea cow.”
I won’t go into how weird I think it is to have such a thing as a window in a pool, but I did make swift departure after this discovery.