I’m in my 20th week, and half way through this fart explosion, I mean, miracle of life. GASEOUS LIFE. It’s strange growing into this body again, especially having been pregnant before. This time there are certain differences, like the groin area pain that feels like I’m being headbutted by a kindergartner. My doctor says this searing pain is caused by my ligaments and joints stretching and one of my friends added that my uterus is loose, too. Just wonderful! My sister suggested that I go to a massage therapist but I answered that I would probably get kicked out of any parlor for suggesting a “happy beginning.”
I’m still hungry all day, but it’s like I suffer from short-term memory loss because I never remember what I just stuffed in my food chute. If I were in that movie Memento, I’d have to tattoo the foods I ate on my arms, but that would just confuse me because I’d read “Cheetos” and “Sara Lee Cheesecake” and set off toward the nearest 7-11 or taco truck, whichever I reach first.
Clothing is still a challenge. I had a small ceremony to pack away pants that didn’t have an enormous swath of elastic around the waist and shirts that aren’t rubber bands woven together to keep my massive stomach from poking out and being “inappropriate” for the work place or any place. I get annoyed with maternity pants that don’t have front pockets. My rear is large enough as it is, I need a place to put my keys in the front. In the back pocket, it looks like it’s uncomfortable to sit with my conjoined twin stuck to my end. I’m more into wrap dresses and loose blouses, and the forgiving outfits I fashion out of queen-sized sheets.
Speaking of clothes, I picked up a few for Baby 2. I won’t know until the baby’s gender until next week, I stuck with the unisex clothing and steered clear of anything that said JUICY COUTURE BABY. I seriously hate that brand of clothing for girls. I don’t detest any babywear as much as I hate Juicy Couture Baby. Maybe it’s because I see enough of that materialistic vapid attitude when I’m on my way to work and there’s some Juicy-velour-sweatpant-and-Uggs-donning college student taking up two seats on the bus because she doesn’t have the common sense to put her Coach bag on her lap.
I don’t mind boys or girls wearing nice clothing, especially newborns whom you want to show off. I get that. If I have a girl, I will dress her in floral frocks, red bows and striped leggings, but nothing that bottles up that cheap counter-feminist GAH Look At Me nonsense in baby form.
So I got this outfit which sums up what baby boys and baby girls are equally capable of: