By Kristen C.
The cat is clearly out of the bag. A very large cat who walks slowly and takes about 15 minutes to get up.
Pregnancy does not suit me. People try to tell me I'm tall so I "wear" it well, but quite frankly, the only thing I wear well these days is a large muu-muu. And even then, it really doesn't look that great.
Basically, when I get pregnant, I spread. All over. I seriously could pass for a linebacker. And I'm only 6 months along.
The first time around, I didn't know any better. I ate well, exercised, and still gained 60 pounds. Now granted, I drank jars of ranch dressing and working out consisted of walking about the speed of a large oceanic tortoise, but still. I figured the "next" time would be different.
And so, it was.
For about 14 minutes.
And then I spread. All over. And this time, it's worse. Clearly I will never be one of those pregnant women who look like their spouse misplaced his basketball under her shirt. Let's face it. I look more like the large man who plays basketball with his spouse on the local YMCA community team.
It'd be one thing if I could lay around all day and eat chips, but carrying the extra weight while chasing around a toddler makes life difficult. I got stuck in the slide at the playground the other day. And I couldn't even fit into the swing. Soon I'm going to need someone to accompany me places in case I've fallen and I can't get up. Cripes. I'm a walking Med-Alert commercial.
I imagine there are some advantages to all this. You can't miss me in a crowd. And I can reserve several seats at a time (as long as they don't have arm rests). But most importantly, I'm growing a healthy baby...
who better weigh at least 25 pounds at birth.
Kristen is a former college music professor turned stay-at-home-mother/rock star to her 20-month-old daughter, Quinlan.