Monday, December 19, 2005

10 weeks to go (maybe)

30 weeks pregnant. My uterus now pushes up hard on my rib cage. In response to recent belly photos, my mother and mother-in-law each promptly sent me a poncho to cover my girth. I am a menace in the tiny aisles of our town's co-op grocery store.

A colleague lent me her enormous, horseshoe-shaped "body pillow." Which should be called a "half body" pillow for its resemblance to a pair of giant, white-clad smurf legs. The strategically pooled stuffing forms knee-knobs and a plush, smurf boots—the better to prop my mid-section and feet. In daylight hours, cats nestle contentedly in the smurf crotch.

I am very spoiled. Another friend brought me a cocoa butter stick to soothe the awful, "I-have-too-little-flesh!" feeling that signals another baby growth spurt. The stick smells like stale frosting, but I roll it on anyway, wondering if my "innie" bellybutton will ever return.

At 30 weeks, the baby's eyelids are no longer fused shut. I imagine him peering through my stretched navel, his peephole. "Grow, baby, grow." (That's what Adam used to whisper to my stomach.) And "Happy birthday, little boy." (Just a little while yet.) "A happy birthday to you."

He kicks so much and so vigorously lately. Already the biased parent, I read into these movements his exceptional intelligence, bravery, and joy.


At 4:59 PM, Blogger jo(e) said...

I remember well what this feels like. And you really do get to know that baby during the last weeks ....

At 1:05 PM, Blogger YelloCello said...

I like that image, jo(e).


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