It’s not enough that I have swollen to record levels. It’s not enough that I’m only getting a few hours of sleep at night. And it’s not enough that I have started having contractions. Contractions that don’t even count. Fake contractions that just serve as a reminder of the pain and suffering I have in my near future.
Nope, now I have to get sick on top of all this? And even worse, The Hurricane has to get sick as well? You know. That same kid who is a crummy sleeper in health. I won’t even get into her sleep patterns in sickness. I’m trying to look on the bright side of things that we’re getting this out of our system so we’ll all be healthy and happy for Junior’s arrival. Errr, right?
Now, onto other rants. I’ve complained in the past about the redundancy of the weekly newsletters I receive re: how my pregnancy is progressing. Week 37 presented the mind-blowing information that I have become increasingly clumsy and off-balance. Gee, that takes a genius to figure out when you’re wearing a bowling ball on your stomach. Good thing my butt has grown exponentially to balance things out.
I’m not exactly someone you’d call graceful when not pregnant but my condition has only augmented my klutz capacity. The other day, I took my shoes off in the middle of the floor and my beloved Jamie tripped over them. I chortled and laughed as I often do at the expense of another…until I did the same thing over one of Hadley’s toys only a few minutes later. But unlike Jamie, I did not make a quick recovery and instead did a side-Beluga roll to avoid landing on Junior. Saved!
A couple of years ago, I was not so lucky. Y’see, I was eight-months pregnant with Hadley and we’d just finished building our home. We’d had Jamie’s brother, Chris, over for dinner and decided to go out for ice cream afterwards. Things started smoothly. I waddled out the door in a semi-straight line when, outta nowhere, I lost my balance. I stepped off the sidewalk and onto our mucky, grass-less lawn. My foot immediately sank and stuck. And then in a move only executed in a game of Twister, my other foot landed at an awkward 540-degree angle. Keeping this pose is an impossibility as an able-bodied person but as a pregnant Beluga? Just say no to those visuals.
And then everything got really, really slow. There were flailing arms, there was an exasperated “Noooooo,” and then splat: I went face-first into the mud. I wasn’t hurt but rather, absolutely mortified. Jamie and Chris stood there stunned, unsure of what action to take. I reacted for them by breaking out into fits of hysterical and embarrassed laughter, which only augmented when I saw my tracks: knee and hand marks, and a big, round place for my belly.
We kept it there until we sodded. In remembrance. Haddie’s reminder is that big ol’ dent in the side of her head. 
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 