Bwah-haw-haw! A PUMPKIN!!!! She’s got another living being, inside of her own living being, that’s the size of a gawd-damn pumpkin! Hahahahahhaa!
Okay, she understands why I think this shit is so funny, and doesn’t hate me for it – even though I did feel the need to explain to her yesterday on the phone why I did nothing but laugh last Thursday when we got a rare Skype moment. You see, to me, being so far away, she’s the exact same person she’s always been. I just cannot mentally picture my best friend being any different. She is who she is, and I love her to bits for it. I can hear about water weight gain, and swollen ankles and foots, but I just don’t see it. Not in my head. My mental image of Socks is probably not much like her actual physical being, though – being so far away for so many years, my head-image of her is a composite of the facial expressions I see in photos, memories, and her overwhelmingly awesome personality. Whatever an intelligent, no-nonsense, hardworking, logical, thoughtful, funny, irreverent, responsible, sarcastic, confident and just plain sexy (my personal definition of sexy; I totally think my BF is hot) woman looks like to you, that’s what Socks looks like in my head.
So… seeing her, in a tight, black and white, horizontally-striped tank top just set me off into paroxysms of laughter. She’s hyoooge! And I know she’ll snap right back afterward, back to someone I can see on Skype and not be giggling my hole off at. And I don’t mean physically – not exactly – I mean… I’ll know when she feels different, when she can move properly and help with the new house renovations and just… be Socks again.
Which might be a problem, in all fairness. Who amongst you moms found that you were almost a different person after becoming a mom? Did you notice? Did you think it was a change for the better? Could you go back to who you were, and would you want to? I’m wondering for a few reasons: one because I know damn well I’d be a shit parent of a human. Two, because this is something Socks used to worry over but now she doesn’t. I am someone who likes to observe and is fascinated by human nature, and I really, really, am interested by this change in my best friend.
I’d love your input – the people I’ve met via this blog are so very insightful and willing to give hard questions a proper mulling-over.
Okay just had a totally freaky thing where condensation from my beer-glass (previous post) dripped on the bottom right corner of my iPad and it went nutso for a bit – kept changing case randomly. Might be a temperature-difference thing?
Anyhoo – Socks has a Pumpkin. Last week was a ‘winter melon’ whatever that is. Neither she nor I can be bothered to figure it out. But last week, on Friday, she had her last ultrasound and everything is good. She’s got two weeks left, but if Button comes now she’ll be fine and at least 7lbs. Doc said there’s nothing to do but wait, and stop taking the baby-aspirin.
There’s no sign of Button coming now, though! Socks is just starting to have Braxton-Hicks contractions, which she says are usually over before she’s realised they have started. Her terrible swelling has gone down – 4lbs in the last week! – which startled her doctor until she explained just how bad it had gotten. Her cure? Loads of water intake, and watery fruit as a snack – grapes, watermelon, etc. Yum.
She’s also staved off stretch marks with sweet almond oil, and no sign of varicose veins either. Doing well, and lucky – not to say by any means these things are bad, it’s just sort of the last thing you need when even the Internet is saying you’ve got something the size of a pumpkin in your abdomen – and in only 9 short months, I’m amazed anyone’s skin and legs could keep up with that!
Yesterday, Socks and Bear drove to Ikea to buy a dresser for Button. Mostly because the shipping was $200 and I don’t care what you drive, a 3hr round trip won’t cost you that much. It was interesting to hear that Bear kept pointing out that everyone was staring. As Socks said, ‘I was in a bright pink tank top. I’d be hard to miss! But how often does anyone see a nearly full-term pregnant lady out in public? They don’t go out. They hide.’
Socks: ‘We worked hard for this belly, why hide it?’
Bear: ‘You couldn’t if you tried.’
Poor Bear, though. As the end draws nigh he is getting really upset about the idea that he has to see his beloved wife in real pain. He’s a big strong manly man, but this is one thing he knows he isn’t strong enough to handle. Or thinks he isn’t – Socks and I know he’ll make it, even if he does faint. Neither of us will think that’s a sign of weakness – it’s totally a sign of true love.
Socks, on the other hand, isn’t afraid of the imminent pain. She’s just excited. I hope I can relate this properly – she said that all of this time, Button has just been a concept, an idea. Not to her – once the terror of another miscarriage had passed – but to us. To everyone else, on the outside of her body, Button is still an idea, a theory. Socks is thrilled with the idea that she will soon get to share with others the person she’s been interacting with through pokes, kicks, hiccups, random movements, sharp pains, and those long, slow nights when she just listens to what is happening inside of her and plans for the future.