The Final Countdown

 

A man with a moustache and paint-splattered jeans stands outside an open warehouse door as I lumber past, all stilt legs and comically protruding belly.  He’s holding a cigarette downward in one hand and a cup of coffee and he stops mid-drag to yell at me.

“Wow, lady, you’re pregnant and still running?  That’s incredible!  You go!” He fist pumps the air and I give him a watery smile and keep trucking, Humpty Dumpty with a ponytail and aerodynamic running shoes.

People are so nice to heavily pregnant people.  A grocer who would normally bag bananas without looking up comments on my cute toddler.  The lady behind the makeup counter at the drug store tells me that my skin is radiant. Even the 19 year old at Aritzia went out of her way to find me a long dress that would fit my curves, and then told me I was a hot mama.

I’ve appreciated every second of it for the last several months that I’ve been visibly pregnant.  But now that I’m in the final two weeks, I want to lock myself in my room with a vat of Kozy Shack and not listen to anyone anymore, even well-intentioned totally awesome random nice people.  I don’t want to tell anyone my due date, I don’t want to hear that I am a trouper, I don’t want to note a visible gasp when I admit that I’m working right up until the day before I give birth.  I remember this from the last two pregnancies as well: a kind of bitter desperation that builds into a crescendo in the final few weeks: likely a culmination of hormones and no sleep and peeing 16 times a day and wondering if your life is headed into a total downward spiral with all the changes you know are about to skyrocket.

It could be just the sheer desperation of wanting an adult discussion about something other than your distended, vein criss crossed stomach, too.  I know it’s hard for people to look at me and notice I have eyes or a brain when my belly button is exploding out of my shirt, but I’m craving the day in a few weeks when the grocer ignores me again while he runs my bananas over the scanner.

Image

(38 weeks.  Surgery is scheduled for July 3rd, so baby is coming then or sooner.  I’m such a crotchety asshole right now — the only redemption is that I already know with certainty how very worth it the baby will be.)

7 thoughts on “The Final Countdown

  1. Beautiful as always, K.

    We’ll be in Vancouver from July 9-14, so if you’re up for visitors, I’d love for our minions to meet (and to snuggle your baby girl).

  2. Ah, so OK no chit chat about your pregnancy or sweet little bebe girl I get it, but can I please mention how gorgeous your hair is?! I am happy to see you here 🙂

  3. You were in my semi-dream (the kind where random people float through your brain when you’re falling a sleep). So glad to hear from you. Your fans will be out here wishing you a safe, healthy and easy delivery, along with a few non-baby/pregnancy related fun moments in the meantime.

  4. Your belly is beautiful and impressive, yes, but what I notice in this photo is your radiant smile. It’s okay to be a crotchety asshole sometimes (at least, I tell myself it is when someone calls me a trooper and I shoot eye daggers at them.) You rock. July 3rd is a great day to have a baby. My niece was born July 3rd and she is full of fire and love and energy.

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