No more room, kiddo

In the last day or two the boy has decided to take up residence inside my rib cage. I don't know why this is, as Lord knows there is enough room in my belly to shoot pool and practice Wii boxing for the next two months, but no. He is lodged pretty tight up there, which means everything that was already in there is now shoved up into my throat. So I can't breathe, I can't eat, I can't bend over and I can't sit without maneuvering my girth into a most unladylike slouch. All this, even when the dad of the kid I was watching at the retreat said he couldn't even tell I was pregnant. Which means either a) something is wrong or b) I definitely know where to pack on the extra thirty pounds. Sigh.

Also, while I'm complaining, my feet suddenly do not fit into my shoes. This is most distressing as I kind of need to wear shoes. Like, to work. They are not even happy in my new shoes, which were wide and big and comfy only one week ago. I stuff them in there anyway, but I'm sort of horrified at what is going to happen to my feet this weekend when I fly to Michigan (have I mentioned that I am flying to Michigan? Where it is not eighty degrees?) Namely my ankles. Ankles everyone will see as I have elected to wear a dress instead of a long trailing bedsheet.

I'm also wearing my old $40 wedding band, the one my darling husband replaced with a prettier one for our third anniversary. The first place I lost weight (back when I was losing weight, sniff) was in my fingers and my engagement ring and wedding band started slipping around. I still wore them, even if they were in danger of flying off every time I threw my hands up in despair (what? Aren't you often throwing up your hands in despair?) I kept planning to resize them, but then Phillip gave me the Most Perfect Ring and my old rings were instantly relegated to the jewelry box. Now I'm kind of relieved I didn't resize them, because my new one is getting a little tight and the old one fits perfectly. 

I don't think my hands look swollen. My feet don't look swollen. My ankles don't look swollen. And I don't think my face has puffed up, the third trimester symptom I am dreading the most. But one single airplane ride can make that all go to hell. Right? I CAN'T WAIT.

But I am not half as crankypants today as I am making myself out to be. Oh no. First of all, today is the first day of spring. You can't be a crankypants on the first day of spring, even if it IS raining and 47 degrees. (And say it in an Empire Records "It's Rex Manning Day!" voice. It makes it much more exciting.)

And! My husband, because he did not go to the retreat and instead planned a day of go-karts and bowling and shot drinking and dressing up the bachelor like Superman and parading him through public places, suddenly found the time to start up our Sirius radio three-month trial and now there is amazing and perfect radio in my car. So much that I listened to Bobby Darin, U2, Kenny Chesney, Whitesnake, Casting Crowns and weather reports all in the same fifteen-minute car ride, commercial free. But I hadn't realized I'd died and gone to radio heaven until the 'Starlite' station busted out 'Please Don't Go Girl'. Please Don't Go Girl! By the New Kids! Auugghh!

To top off the happy thoughts I'm thinking I should give myself a little spring break. Last year we spent a weekend in the San Juans but that kind of thing's not happening this year. After the Michigan weekend I've got two weekends of baby showers (me=spoiled rotten) and after that my due date is less than a month away. No way no how am I going away for the weekend only to have my baby in some bed and breakfast in Canada. This website aside, I am not Krazy. Yesterday I suggested we turn off the phones, buy enough breakfast food for an army and spend a weekend in bed with a pile of movies and books and cinnamon rolls and bacon. Mmm, bacon.

(And people, when you visit Seattle, because all of you must, I will take you here for the best cinnamon rolls on the planet. The frosting goes on top of the mound of melting butter.) 

Anyway, all that got me was a look that said, "This is me humoring you," which I'd normally find annoying, but he can't stop me. Spring, it shall be broken!

But for now I need to do some jumping jacks to dislodge the kid's toes from in between my ribs and find something for breakfast with more nutritional value than the piece of leftover banana cream pie in my fridge. I have the Annual Fancy Event Debriefing Happy Hour this evening and I'll need to be comfortable waiting for everyone else to get sufficiently tipsy so the trashing of obnoxious guests may begin. It's the best part of volunteering and I'm not going to miss it just because I have a small person smooshing my stomach into my lungs.

Comments

[Laura]

I will take you up on the cinnamon rolls and I suggest flip flops until the baby is born. Hey, you can get some fancy ones for the wedding : )

[Christina/Mrs Broccoli Guy]

That foot in the ribs thing is the pits. Must be a boy thing because my son did it too. :-}
And hey no fair having 47 degrees only a half hour away from me where we are having Weather Cold Enough For Snow!! (Dang Convergence Zone!)