Thursday, January 27, 2011

There's Going To Be A Kid In This House

I've had a few emails asking how I'm feeling. You ladies are very sweet. And Becca (in China) likes to keep tabs on my growing girth. So here you go.

So far, as I'm wading (waddling) into the third trimester, I'm finding that I have a very different take on the way I look.

I think most women can agree we spend a fair amount of time concerned with our appearances. And as a pregnant woman watches her weight climb, her hips grow, and her heels warp from fashion accessories to torture devices sent straight from the devil... things change.

Basically, for the first time in my life, I don't really care about the scale.

Or my shoes.
Or the signature purple Elton John sunglasses of my youth.

One woman at the grocery store said I was "luscious." I'll be honest, it made me a little uncomfortable.

Luscious as in pretty?

Luscious as in large?

Luscious as in "nice to meet you, my name is Bertha Lecter and this is my brother Hannibal"?

But I know she meant well. Bless her sweet heart. She must know that big penguin shaped women need all the encouragement they can get.

But the bottom line is when you have to ask for help putting on a pair of boots (or tying your shoes or picking up towels from the bathroom floor), your appearance is no longer a top priority. It's freeing actually. It's nice not to care.

The third trimester is also kicking my energy level in the head. Sometimes I press the imaginary accelerator that gets me going in the morning and my entire body laughs and says, "Um. No. Not so fast there Chuckles." But I'm not complaining. Really. Anything is better than the first trimester, or as I like to fondly remember it, "The Walking Death."

Last weekend Noah came over with his parents for dinner. He's one of those children that everyone wants to clone. He sat quietly and watched Sesame Street while the adults had dinner. He shares my affinity for Welch's Fruit Snacks. At the end of the night he shook his mom's pant leg and said, "I go to bed now." Basically, his parents won the cosmic genetic lottery.

As I watched Noah make himself at home in the living room chair and play with his toys on the kitchen counters, I got a little misty eyed. Maybe I'm just packed full of crazy hormones, but it dawned on me that a kid will be living in our house soon. An honest to goodness, diaper wearing, toy toting, teething-ring chewing little girl. After almost ten years of marriage (and most of those years spent in a we're-never-having-children state), this concept blows my mind.

But as you can see, Matt is totally mentally prepared for kid-dom.