Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Brains. What are they good for?

I was going to wax rhapsodic about…something. Then Baby Skullhead decided to stretch her wings, and I spent the last three hours on the couch. All of this is to say: The Third Trimester Cometh! And good God, why? Why? I realized my brain had lied to me – it had completely erased the whole concept of third trimester from my mind. I was thinking that second trimester was the new normal. I was fully prepared to keep rolling with moments of discomfort in between long bouts of energy right up until I gave birth.

But no, this is the third trimester. The one where you could gain ten to twenty pounds in three months as the fetus fills out. The one where your ab muscles, ribs, and body fat reach their stretchy limit and then CONTINUE to stretch. I now know what it feels like to have my abs stretch like a balloon. You know how the balloon gets thinner and thinner the fuller it gets? That’s my midsection right now. I told Baby Skullhead that unless she wanted to sleep in a box she damn well better let up so I can finish unpacking, otherwise, box cradle for you! I ain't afraid to use a dresser drawer as a bassinet. There is no shame in my game.

This leads me to some other random tidbits... "They" say you should bond with your baby. Although I understand the psychological and emotive importance of this step of pregnancy, the sardonic side is like, really? I'm going to bond with a creature whose brain isn't done forming yet? Yeah, I'm sure her emotional development is far enough long to "get" it when we talk to her. I'm sure talking to her about how much that we loooooooove her makes perfect sense, 'cause she'll totally return it by not kicking me in the organs. Oh wait, no she won't! That's not her job. Her job is grow, punch me, and mindlessly strip me of all the nutrients she can. Which she is doing – while also increasing my already prodigious appetite for chocolate. What's the evolutionary purpose of that? I ate the world's biggest salad out of spite for lunch. Take that!

In the end, I should be happy she can't understand us because Husband-cat spends all his time whispering, "Listen to your father, not your mother. Your father is always right. And so funny. You're father is hilarious, you should always laugh at his jokes. Don't listen to your mother." He swears his programming will take better than mine because I’m too far away for Baby Skullhead to hear me properly. So if there is any validity to talking to your fetus, I'm in trouble. They are already double teaming me.

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