Blimp Sightings

It’s hard not to feel self-conscious as I balloon outward.  Curtis has done nothing but make sure I know how much he loves the way I look, but sometimes you can do a perfectly good job of feeling bad all by yourself.

We were sitting on the couch watching television earlier, and I wanted to be playful with him.  I leaned down to kiss him and found I couldn’t reach, and he couldn’t sit up any further because my stomach was blocking him.  I fumbled with moving forward, and he accidentally pushed his leg into my belly (which hurt), then bumped his elbow rather roughly against my breast (which hurt much worse).  I asked him to sit up, but he couldn’t because I was laying on him, so he asked me to move off but I couldn’t because I was stuck in that position.   He completed a series of complicated manuvers with a smile still beaming on his face, waiting to kiss me, but I was in tears.  He put his arms around me, and let me rest my head against his shoulder to cry.  I know it truly doesn’t bother him, but sometimes it really bothers me.  When it takes this much effort just to play, it’s difficult to stay in the mood for anything.

It’s not so much the large-ness as the awkwardness.  There isn’t a single sexual position that’s comfortable anymore; they all hurt in some way.  Curtis is perfectly content to be intimate and find other ways of expressing sexuality, but on the (now rare) occassions I feel as though I want sex, there’s just about zero way we can manage it without a series of complicated gymnastics and that bothers me.   I feel self-conscious about my chest, as well.  Having big breasts is one thing, but they’re cartoonishly huge – and quite frankly just get in the way.  For the first time in my life I wish I was smaller.  (Naturally, Curtis doesn’t share this opinion…)

I’m eternally grateful that Curtis takes time out of every day to make sure I know how he feels about the way I look, but as the pregnancy progresses it matters less and less in relation to how I feel about myself.    It’s not a ‘fat’ issue, just an ‘awkward’ one.  When you need help doing everything from rolling out of bed to standing up, and bathing takes an extra 10 minutes because you can’t bend over to reach your feet without passing out or feeling sick, you start to feel a little helpless.  Who’d have thought only 2lbs of baby can make you feel as if you’re carrying 20 worth of rocks?  Now I know why pregnant women waddle; because it’s impossible to walk like a normal person with a bowling ball resting on your pelvis.

And here I promised myself I wouldn’t be one of those obnoxious pregnant women who do nothing but complain every day of their pregnancy.  If I get it all out in a half-dozen entries over a period of 40 weeks does that make it any better?

— Babs



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