Planetary Vacation

It's official.  I've reached the level of pregnancy that makes me think I'm as big as a small planet.  It's happened far sooner this time around than with my other pregnancies, and I think the reason for this is because of the early bed rest.  All I do all day is lay around and get bigger.  Not good for my self esteem, or the furniture.  Trying to get into and out of bed becomes a routine that would headline successfully in any circus, and I often hum the classic "circus tune" while gasping and rolling around, struggling with pillows.  The truly awful part of the ritual is that as soon as I'm finally comfortable, heaving a huge relieved sigh, I suddenly realize that I need to use the restroom.  Now.  Or, I need to sit up because of heartburn.  And thus, the night progresses.

I am 27 weeks into my pregnancy and cannot see my feet.  I am sure they are there because I use them to ferret out small toys and random legos, but I'm not sure anymore what they look like.  Sometimes someone will tell me that they are swollen, and I nod like I already had this bit of information, but truthfully I'm just relieved to hear they are still visible and recognizable as feet.  If they itch, I am doomed.  They might as well be on the moon for all the good it does me trying to scratch.  I roll around, rubbing my feet together like some sort of mad cricket, wishing for shorter legs or monkey arms in order to reach the sole of my foot.

Every time there's a knock at the door I think there is a very good chance that it's scientists with truckloads of equipment in order to document the all the seismic activity originating from this location.  I'm prepared to show them how difficult it is to get in and out of a bed on risers when you don't know where your feet are, but I just don't know how I'll feel when I'm asked to become someone's thesis.  Or maybe NASA will have a request to send me into orbit as a planetary stand-in for Pluto while it goes in for repairs for a faulty axis.  I might even be a natural disaster waiting to happen and measures need to be taken to get me off planet before I shift the Earth's gravitational pull beyond what's safe.  Here's a friendly warning: If one day soon, you are going about your daily life and the entire world seems to tilt crazily, I don't want you to have to wonder what's going on.  Your first thought can now be "She's reached critical mass!" and make life saving decisions accordingly.

I have 9 more weeks at minimum, before Henry arrives (personal goal, anyway) and there's no telling how much bigger I will get.  I'm hoping it won't get to the point of calling the National Guard to get me out of the house when it's time to go to the hospital, but I'm not going to be surprised if the doctors ask me if they can document the last few months "for science".  Sometimes I worry about trying to get in shape after Henry is here, but then I remember I have Mitch and I realize that if I just shadow him every day, I will be rail thin in weeks.  I'm pretty sure he'd be a fat child if he had a different personality, so I think it's a solid work out plan to just mimic his movements until I reach my goal weight again.  That's what I'm banking on, anyway.  However, I try not to think that far in advance right now, or I'll go nuts.  Day by day, pound by pound, is the strategy and it's working so far.