The baby kicks now. Or *something* is going on in there, kicking being just one of many different ways to antagonize my bladder. Lately I have been picturing one of those toy tanks with treads that you set in motion on the floor and when it hits a wall or obstacle, it rides up the wall until it flips over and diverts to a new direction. It never occurred to me before, but being poked at from inside your own body is an incredibly odd experience indeed. And I’m only just over halfway there; presumably she hasn’t even begun to truly raise hell yet. I hope my vital organs are up to the fight because I fear I’m running out of room.
Aside from the large bulge just south of the two other large bulges that are my newfangled boobs, you would really never know I was pregnant at all. I think it’s still a secret from my apartment neighbors, mostly because I’ve taken great pains to avoid visual contact with them. Basically the first time they do see me it’ll be because I have a nine-month belly and can’t run fast enough. I fear this might be traumatic to all involved.
I really am anxious about the whole baby crying/trendy Portland hipster neighbors lynching the bothersome breeders upstairs issue. Next to dying in childbirth, it’s probably the only other big thing on my List of Concerns. There are a few other things I should be adding to this list, I’m sure, but I just can’t think of them.
I always thought being pregnant would be harder to deal with, or more concisely, Joshua thought a pregnant me would be much more difficult. But honestly, I forget half the time I’m even pregnant at all. Until I have to actually button my pants or something. I feel almost entirely asymptomatic: not unusually emotional, not overly tired, etc. Joshua has noted (and I am forced to agree) that I am severely low on patience these days, which usually manifests itself into small blowouts over minor electrical projects or computer issues. Happily, Joshua is very good at all things electrical and computing so I usually don’t have to snort and fume for very long before a miracle occurs and my problem disappears. I did, however, make him get up and jiggle the toilet handle in the middle of the night last night because I was already irritated at having to get up to go to the bathroom, again, and had it in my head that a third trip might actually kill me. Here’s hoping this is a symptom of pregnancy and will go away once a patience-demanding, screaming toothless blob of flailing rubber is placed under my care.
I’ve been doing a bit of internet research as to what sort of things are necessary when faced with a newborn. Like car seats and onesies (heee) and things disturbingly referred to as “butt cream,” which I’m afraid to even google for a definition. Some things, such as “maternity underwear,” make no sense to me; I’m no obstetrician but I’m fairly certain there is no growing baby stored anywhere in my ass. While I admit some searches have been vaguely informative, altogether they have remained fruitless because I get overwhelmed easily when faced with too many choices, particularly where shopping is involved. And Amazon has been pissing me off lately when I log on and find announcements such as, “Hello Cheyenne! We have recommendations for you based on your recent searches!” (Oh shit.) And of course to my horror is listed, Graco ‘Little Miss Plush Pinktastic’ carseat/pram/diaper genie folding combo; Battlestar Galactica Season II The-Making-Of DVD; Kidoppotomus Swaddleme Fleecy Restraints; Patrick Hughes’ “Diary of Indignities;” and Tonka ‘Roll ‘Em Somersaults’ battery-operated tank.