I’ve officially popped this month. It’s kind of an inaugural moment, really – the moment when the belly extends beyond the point of “perhaps she enjoyed some extra helpings at her holiday dinners” and into the region of bumping into random things at unexpected times along with the hint of a really sexy waddle. It’s an interesting phenomenon, actually, growing more rotund by the day. It makes it increasingly difficult to account for your own width and depth, making it more and more frequent that you awkwardly brush your belly (or behind) up against complete strangers.
With this spread comes a series of occurrences, some that might be deemed as cute and seeing as this is my fourth time on this crazy ride, I have come to terms with the fact that this is just kind of part of what you sign up for. Other occurrences, however, can’t be called “cute” by any stretch of the imagination. These are the occurrences I DEFINITELY didn’t sign up for. For example …
What I signed up for:
My children are rarely seen walking through the house without a plethora of stuffed animals, blankets, toys, etc stored safely underneath their shirts to mimic the growing expanse of their mother’s midsection. My four-year-old has made my two-year-old cry on more than one occasion due to her emphatic insistence that “only GIRLS can have a baby in their tummy!”
What I didn’t sign up for:
At a holiday dinner this season, a well-meaning little one stared at me intently all through the greetings and eatings of the festivities. Finally, she announced to me (and the group) “you can’t even zip your coat ‘cuz your belly’s so big!” I smiled graciously and patted her head – and stored the mortification away deep inside to revel in alone during my late-night snacking (fourth meal) later that evening. Yes, my built-in resting spot for coffee mugs, dinner plates, and wayward crumbs has also migrated south of the hem of most of my t-shirts. This has resulted in a regular fixture known as a “belly sliver” jiggling beyond and below modest coverage – a very attractive (not) feature that is gaining a more and more regular (and obvious) appearance by the day. It’s not exactly the hottest trend, but it’s a fashion statement, nonetheless.
What I signed up for:
My daughter asks me daily when her baby sister is going to be here.
Our calendar is based on whether occasions will happen before or after the baby is born. We sing the months of the year several times a day to review when exactly April is. She asks to feel the baby “bump” (kick) and reminds me at every meal (as if I needed the reminder) that she is “going to take care of you, mommy, and remind you to eat lots of food because you need that baby to grow!” Okay, dear – done and done. 🙂
What I didn’t sign up for:
I’ve been following my dear daughter’s advice and eating lots of food. All for the baby, of course. At every doctor’s appointment, I’ve actually been able to avoid learning the resulting number on the scale. I’ve come up with a handy little trick: walk proudly up to that stupid machine, step on with a flounce and promptly cross your eyes. No one will ever know how furiously you are avoiding learning that growing value. Side note: make sure no one sees you utilizing this neat little trick since the pairing of these crossed eyes and the aforementioned “belly sliver” might bring about some questions about your emotional and psychological health. Then again, when my doctor took a breath, slid her eyeglasses down the bridge of her nose and used her pen to mimic the dramatically sharp incline of my weight tracking across her screen, I would have welcomed the change of subject.
What I signed up for:
Nursery planning and decor execution is in progress. (Not really “execution,” but more like “direction” as I prefer to enlist my husband for all the manual labor. I’ve learned that “I’m pregnant!” is actually a great trump card in a number of situations; pair that with “I’m bearing YOUR children for you!” and you’re good-as-gold off-the-hook for almost anything.) My Pinterest boards are proof of my enthusiasm and dreaming; my Amazon.com cart is full, as well. Technically, though, I don’t really need anything. The crib, although chewed around the edges, is ready to weather round four of this craziness. We’ve got blue stuffed animals and pink stuffed animals; we’ve got girly bedding and cute boy blankets. We’ve got our bases covered. However, this mommy isn’t going to pass up the chance to decorate a nursery one more time – and when it means all things frilly, pretty, and girly, you better believe I’m all in. Lace and pink fill the majority of my thoughts most of the time. 😉
What I didn’t sign up for:
This dreaming does not come without a price. Ladies and gentlemen, baby-brain has officially set in. Whether it’s stuttering through the names of all the inhabitants of our home (both two-legged and four-legged) before finally landing on the one I am actually attempting to address, relying on my four-year-old to locate essentials (such as my other children) throughout the day or keeping track of my grocery list,
my brain seems to have reached its max capacity. When driving to the Plaza the other day (a route I’ve driven since I was sixteen), this maxed-out brain sent me the wrong way down one-way Ward Parkway. Apparently, somehow it made sense in the moment to turn left when no one else was. Suddenly, I found myself wondering where the yellow directional lines had gone, why the road in front of me seemed so narrow and, hmm, why is that approaching car so very much in my lane? Thankfully, I came to my senses in time to flip a u-turn in the middle of the road … and avoid eye contact with the driver of that approaching car who might possibly have had some choice words (or fingers) for me.
In conclusion, as I prepare to wrap up the second of my three trimesters, I find one of the most enjoyable experiences thus far has been evaluating the reactions of those around me as they grow increasingly aware of my state of … growing. It’s rather humorous, actually; kind of a predictable series of events. Whoever I’m standing next to takes some time to look me up and down, slowly, carefully assessing my midsection. Finally, apparently deciding I’m in the “safe zone” for such a perilous inquiry, they smile at me sweetly, tilt their head oh-so-tenderly and kindly question, “your first?” I smile back. “My fourth.” Immediately, their head snaps up, their smile fades and is quickly replaced by a progression of emotions. Shock is usually the first expression … followed by terror … followed by curiosity as they glance behind me, determining my mode of transportation and possibly looking for an Amish buggy. This sequence is followed up by sympathetic exhaustion – which, of course, I am fine with and actually sometimes appreciate. As I snuggle up with my heating pad and collection of pillows each evening, exhausted by 8:30 pm, sometimes I have to wonder myself if I really know what I’ve signed up for.
And, really, I already know the answer – I don’t. And it’s OK.
(Editor’s note: If you’d like to see more photos like these, you can follow Allison French on Instagram at @allisoncorrin.)
About the author: Allison French is the mother of Ellie, Tristan, and Judah and one-in-the-oven living in south Kansas City with her hubby of seven years, Chris. Except for her college years in the Little Apple of Manhattan, Kansas, she’s always lived in Kansas City and is proud to be able to confidently navigate the 435 loop and beyond. She taught first and fifth grade in Blue Valley for six years but with the birth of her third munchkin, took some time off from teaching to establish her photography business,Allison Corrin Photography. Between dirty diapers, noisy time-outs, piled-up dishes and the never-ending laundry, she also blogs their everyday adventures and musings of motherhood over at Life With the Frenchs. An ideal start to the day for Allison would include getting up while it’s still dark (and quiet), a good cup (or four, when she’s not pregnant) of creamed-up coffee, a lit scented candle, reading one of the (at least three) books she’s always in the middle of, a little blogging followed by a long run or dancing at her Jazzercise class and would conclude with baking something sweet … and then eating it.
