Week seventeen

Sweet merciful manatee of humanity, whatever meager creative spark was left in me after I finished college and joined the corporate workforce has been reignited after seemingly having been extinguished early in this pregnancy (which, I might add, is nearly HALFWAY over, CANYOUBELIEVEIT?!). I say this only because in the past few days I have felt more like doing and creating and writing and sharing than I have in the past four months combined. Let’s hope it’s not a false start, even if it will surely ebb and flow according to the whims of the little turnip-sized baby inside me.

This past week I’ve been enjoying what they call “round ligament pain” down in the ol’ nether regions. It’s just jabs and twangs of discomfort here and there. Nothing too major. I’ve been trying to manage my headaches by drinking more water than any living being should ever be expected to drink. And I have learned that my whole body-chemistry-is-repelling-mosquitoes theory is utter bunk. So I haven’t spent much time in my lovely lush yard. Boo.

I’ve been feeling little flutters off and on all day. This may or may not be related to the cup of coffee I let myself have this morning. My bump in creativity also may or may not be related to this magical cup of coffee. Let’s not ponder the small details, shall we?

We’re getting close to ultrasound time again. This time we’re going to gawk and gawk at this baby’s, uh, situation so we can figure out which pronouns to use from here on out. Sometimes I really stop to think about these scattered movements inside of me, and how they constitute not only a child but a child with actual organs and functions and, already, a personality. I can’t believe it. It just seems so unlikely and amazing and odd and wonderful.

I’m constantly scanning my and Ray’s faces for tics and features that I daydream into a composite of our baby’s face. I wonder if features of relatives I’ve never met — both his and mine — will poke through the DNA and make us wonder, Where did the baby get THAT? It’s fun, doing these little mental sketches.

This websites tell me that this week the cartilage is becoming bone, sweat glands are forming, the umbilical cords is plumping up, and the baby is five inches long. The silly app on my phone had a tip today telling me to disable the airbags in my car. I realize coming up with a different tip every day during a pregnancy is probably a tough task, but let’s not get carried away. I’m pretty sure that were I to get in an accident that triggered the airbags, I would rather take the chance of having the airbag cushion my head from the steering wheel/windshield than worry about how an airbag is going to affect my stomach. But what do I know? I don’t make apps for a living. Also I’m not a doctor.

There were other things I wanted to post about, but they have disappeared down what I am calling the “preggo brain hole.” Have I already called it that here? Probably. I think about the preggo brain hole a lot. I wonder where the tunnel leads to, and how much has fallen down there that I have yet to notice. Is gravity the same at the bottom of the preggo brain hole? What is gravity, anyway? These concepts hurt my head.

Oh, something else to blame on the preggo brain hole: The fact that I cannot ever remember to make time to take a picture of my gut every Thursday before work. Hence the weekly crappy Instagram taken in the work restroom during a pee break. It’s shameful and I’m sorry, but, well, I NO THINK SO GOOD NO MORE.