Even though I really am not enjoying being pregnant, there is, strangely, one thing I like: my belly.
I have countless reasons to hate it:
~ At last measurement, it was 49 inches around. I am only 63 inches tall.
~ My back hurts and my ribs ache in a way I cannot adequately describe…almost a burning, crackly feeling.
~ It itches constantly.
~ It looks okay head-on, but the sides are covered in painful bruises and puncture wounds from my shots.
~ It functions like a small heater, which is especially problematic when it is 100 degrees outside (like it has been all week).
Oh, and it’s always in the way.
But still, I like it. I like how round, yet pointy, it is. I like that for the last thirty-six weeks, I haven’t had to suck it in. The bigger my belly gets, the more confident I am in the way I look. And of course, I like that it has managed to keep The Acrobat safely inside for thirty-six weeks.
Annabel loves to rub, kiss, and hug my belly, and I love those sweet moments. She’s showing affection for her brother, but I get to reap the benefits.
Sometime in the next few weeks, my belly will deflate, and I’ll be back to sucking it in, camouflaging it, and generally ignoring its existence. I won’t miss having this gigantic belly, but I’m not going to hate these remaining days with it.