Time Warp

Over the past week, I seem to have fallen into a time warp. Things have progressed at a tremendous speed and I can only assume it will continue this way until the end of my pregnancy. My stomach has once again popped, drawing attention to strangers. I now get the "Aren't you cute?" look as I waddle my way through parking lots.  And waddle away is what I seem to have achieved this week. Suddenly, my legs don't move nearly as fast and a thirty minute stroll through the mall leaves me seeking solitude with a couch. Then at the end of my day, I have my favorite moment. I sit back, kick up my feet, and place both hands down my pants, on my stomach Al Bundy style, waiting for the kicking to begin. By now there are patterns. He gets  moving in the morning, again after a big sugary treat, and again at night. Feeling his little kicks and punches helps me make a connection to the real world. For as much as my stomach and boobs continue to grow, the entire thing is still surreal. Having the alien-like pulsating coming from within helps me to check back in to my reality. 

A day shy of twenty-three weeks, it was time for another sonogram. Today, it seemed that I was not the only one putting my body through a time warp. My little guy seems to have doubled in size and flipped his head downtown, leaving his feet to kick my ribs, and his head to poke my pelvis. In comparison to four weeks ago, his swimming pool has become smaller and his fists and feet now seem to attack himself as he strives for movement and space. As I was watching this, I couldn't help but wonder how on Earth he would continue to fit over the next four months. But then I realized, I can still breath, I don't have stretch marks (yet), and I can still get off the ground by myself. It's not until these lovely trademarks set in that you truly appreciate and understand pregnancy.

Going back to size, those of you who know my husband know he is no small man. Growing up, the size of his head was always a concern of self-consciousness. Being of good humor, he now readily accepts his nickname "Head". Since I'm carrying his child, his lifetime of concern suddenly seems minute compared to the thoughts accompanying the idea of vaginal delivery. At every sonogram, the first question asked every time remains the same; "How's his head?" This week's reply will only feed my fear. The technician said with a laugh,"It looks great. It's on the larger side of average." Now to the normal person, upper average is great. That's like being 9 out of 10 or getting a B+ on a test. However, to my ears I heard only this,"RRRiiiiiiippppppppp, teearrrrrrr" says the vagina.