You Have a Waddle

My husband is a very kind, very sweet person. He is very caring. He doesn't like to hurt my feelings. Unfortunately, when you're pregnant, one wrong word or inflection leaves you with your jaw hanging open looking like someone just ate the last cookie. (Actually, that could be a worse crime but we will get to that later.)
One of Chris' many out-loud proclamations included, "You have a waddle", which he quickly corrected with, "You walk differently now that you're pregnant."
Ah, yes. Please tell me more about how my hips have widened, I am the heaviest I have ever been, and my skin stretching tightly over what was once a non-existent gut. These are things I was not fully aware of. These are not reasons I look at "23weekspregnant" on Instagram, wondering if everyone else looks as huge as I feel.
Honestly, most people have said they can't believe I am 5 months along, but these are also people I have just met in the hospital. They didn't know me before!
I cannot even begin to describe to you how disgusted I was the first time I felt my boobs touch my stomach. These parts were quite small before, and didn't touch regularly. I voiced my concerns to my mother who responded, "Just wait until you feel your stomach on your thighs."
Thank you for the encouragement!
I admit, up until about 20 weeks, I had decided that pregnancy wasn't really my favorite undertaking. It was all symptoms and what felt like no reward. And then I felt like a failure because I felt like I should be happier. I should be more excited.
And then he kicked. And once I knew he was kicking, I looked forward to the next. And before I knew it, he was kicking all of the time. Then, I would find myself staring at my belly for solid blocks of time, just waiting for the next.
Week 23 is half over and has included 1 meltdown, 2 food accusations, one "holy hell" moment, and after many outtakes, one fantastic kick on camera.
The meltdown came after watching the movie, "The Judge", which touched on a lot of intimate moments a family goes through in hospice. It made me cry, which made me realize how far away I have gotten away from what I would truly love to be doing, and that made me cry even harder. Meltdown is the only way to describe my flailing hands and sobs as I ran to the safety of my bed to feel sorry for myself. Thanks, hormones.
The food accusations need not be dwelled on, just take note that if my husband wants to live a long, happy life, he won't be eating all of the ice cream again.
My "holy hell" moments happen in front of mirrors and always catch me off guard. Straight on, fine. Sideways? Naked? Oofda. I am now built of a not-so-intricate series of lumps and bumps.
Finally, one kick. For a babe who loves to kick when I lie down to sleep and when I wake up, he sure doesn't do much during the day or when I'm working out. So, naturally, when wiggle worm was doing his daily karate practice, I attempted to get a video to show Babi (his grandma Lindemoen). He is much like his father in that when a camera comes out, he suddenly gets very shy and refuses to do the thing that made me get my camera out in the first place. I managed to get one good kick to show her, though.
Tonight, I went to a friend's to catch up on the Bachelor. We made dinner and talked and it's something I really look forward to. We dress comfy and truly have a girls' night. Well, I wore black leggings and a maternity tee that said, "Made in Texas" with an arrow pointed toward the bump. I felt ok, cute even. Then I walked outside and a kid on a bike saw my stomach and said, "Whoa".
Don't worry. It was his last word.
Chris asked me to grab beer for him on my way home.
Yes.
Let me waddle myself into a gas station to buy you beer. (I did, because I'm the best wife ever. Obviously.)