The third trimester was an interesting dichotomy: I was very clearly pregnant now, and felt like all the "awww"s happened more frequently during this phase, but I was tired again. I mean exhausted, and not just physically. So while everyone thought I looked darn cute, and I got kind, admiring looks from even strangers, I was starting to be ready to see my toes again, to lay on my belly, to eat sushi and drink beer. I was ready to have my body back despite how nice everyone was.
The waddle began. My feet got fat -- really fat. If you don't believe me, know this: I normally wear a size 8.5 and was now borrowing my sister-in-law's size 10 shoes.
The peeing was out of control. I felt like I had to pee - not often - always. I literally couldn't tell if I really had to pee because I had that sensation all. day. long.
During my nearly ninth month, we went to Disneyland for my sister-in-law's 40th birthday. (For those of you keeping track, this is the same sister-in-law who gave me all her fashionable pregnancy clothes and loaned me her shoes when my feet inflated.) It's important to note that we were there during Memorial Day Weekend. Crazy? Perhaps. We were to spend two full days there - one in Disneyland and one at California Adventure.
The first day wasn't bad! I drank lots of water, stood in the shade whenever possible and rode rides like It's a Small World, Pirates of the Caribbean, Mr. Toad's Wild Ride and the Haunted Mansion. However, once 3:00 pm hit, a tsunami of exhaustion brought me to my knees. I practically shuffled back to the shuttle, cried a little (without anyone noticing!), and spent the rest of the evening in bed while everyone went out for dinner.
On day two, my husband offered to rent me an electric scooter. Despite my fears about what people would think and how I'd look (oh, admit it, you'd feel the same way), I agreed to the Rascal and rode around in it all day. It was a LIFESAVER. Not only did I last until 7:00 pm, I got to harass pedestrians and honk my ridiculous horn. I would do it again in a heartbeat.
And while all of this may not sound horrible -- and it wasn't -- I had moments of sheer exhaustion. On the second day at Disneyland, my husband and I again walked back to the shuttle that would take us back to our hotel. I felt like I had to keep my knees together to keep the baby from falling out. When we got to the bench and sat, I cried loudly. My husband, alarmed, looked at me and asked what was wrong. I had no words. I was so beyond exhausted, so relieved the trip at the amusement park was over, and so ready to feel normal again, that I couldn't help myself. I cried all the way back on the shuttle, tears streaming down my face, while the other passengers tried not to look.
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I remember telling myself I would be an active pregnant person. After all, I'd run a half marathon, so I was sure I could handle to physicality of pregnancy. I was cocky. And wrong. I've now discovered that pregnancy and birthing is the most physically (and mentally) demanding thing I will ever do in my lifetime.
Still, at the beginning -- alright, the second trimester -- I was active. I went to the gym, went for walks, did prenatal yoga. Fast forward to the third trimester and I found myself bargaining with myself in order to not have to take the stairs at work. "If it's more than two flights, I'll take the elevator," I'd say. That soon became, "Fuck it, I'm taking the elevator even if it's one flight."
Turning over in bed had become a workout, too. I had to be fully awake and use every muscle in my body to switch from laying on my left to laying on my right. That involved quite a bit of grunting and pillow rearranging as well, which I'm sure made my husband very, very happy. Add to that the constant need to pee, and I'd say I was averaging about 2.5 minutes of sleep a night.
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And then there was the sex. What once had been so fun and carefree, now felt a little, well, dangerous. Not to mention tricky. And while I still enjoyed it, both my husband and I couldn't help but have that cliche fear you hear about: hurting the baby. And not just with my husband's penis, but with all our moving around and the pressure of our bodies being so close. I mean, I'm sure the little guy had no room left! In fact, I knew this because I was constantly witnessing elbows, knees and feet stretching my skin, searching for more room! And even though all the books and the doctors tell you it's fine, until you have a growing baby inside of you, you don't know that kind of worry.
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