Pregnancy Talk

I really thought I’d be able to refrain from writing so much about being pregnant, but really, it’s taken over my life in every way, so there’s no way to avoid it unless I stop blogging altogether. I am so overcaffeinated and so overtired and so oversugared (the former and latter being attempts to compensate for the middle). The back aches have come on full force, so when Brown Brown isn’t making a jungle gym of my ribs, he’s apparently taking my back muscles and pulling at them as if they were his own personal slingshot. Which, I suppose, they are.

There are these moments when I think about the fact that there is a human being—a real live actual human being inside my body (and I won’t get into any debates about when life begins, because for Brown Brown, life has begun in the sense that he is a viable life form. If he were born today, he’d have a greater than 90 percent chance of survival)—and I get totally freaked out. I mean how completely bizarre is it that there is this thing, this living thing inside of me who will someday walk; talk; leave the toilet seat up; listen to bad music; date women I don’t like; and pick up disgusting habits like obsessively watching the Red Sox, thinking that his actions will influence how the team performs. How is it we are so advanced as a society and yet still have to do something as primitive, as base, as squeezing living things from our wombs. Yuck! It’s so, so… well, all I can think of is that thing coming from the belly in Alien.

But luckily those thoughts are relatively fleeting and most of the time I’m just in awe that there’s a little life inside of me, a little person who will someday walk; talk; amaze me with his wit and intelligence; smile and laugh and bring joy to his family; and obsessively watch the Dolphins, knowing that his actions will influence how the team performs.