My body has been completely overtaken.
Let's start at the top and do an inventory, shall we?
Head
Remember the post that was a letter to my brain? I neglected to mention the part where it took me a week just to remember to post that note. Really. A whole freakin' week. To remember. To post an entry about not being able to remember stuff. And I'm looking back on those few weeks as still in the "good time" of my brain function.
Face
I normally have chubby cheeks, and I'm OK with that. I hated them when I was a teenager, but I've learned to work with them. Now? I'm not sure where my cheeks end and my ears and/or neck begin. Plus, my right cheek is a lovely shade of red. But just my right one.
Arms
I'm sure there's a legitimate medical, pregnancy-related reason for my upper arms to swell and look fat. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. Nor does it mean my upper arms have to get itchy -- because that, of course, is one place on my body right now that's not easy to reach, considering I have to reach across my chest to scratch. Which leads me to ...
Chest
Inside of me, there's a body-conscious 13-year-old going "yea-ha, woo!" There's a tired 26-year-old new mom saying, "Let me remind you of one word: mastitis." And there's a part that keeps thinking of one bit of trivia from a pregnancy book: By this point, my uterus is so big it's making my rib cage flare out by as much as 2 inches.
Abdomen
At the Thanksgiving/Christmas get-together with my in-laws a few weekends ago, I actually had somebody tell me that it looked like I was faking the pregnancy and had just stuffed a beach ball up my shirt. I've held beach balls. Mine weighs more, and it would take much more than a light finger tap to get it over a volleyball net.
Legs
Thanks to an allergic reaction to our laundry detergent, my already-swollen and mottled legs look like they're sunburnt and are covered in UNBELIEVABLY ITCHY hives. I'm pretty sure I still have ankle bones, though I can't really see them, and I know for a fact that my socks and shoes have not suddenly shrunk, regardless of how it appears when I finally get my arms and hands the whole way down to my feet to put those items on.
As further proof that I'm an incubator, I'd like to point out that I am warm. Always. Even now, as I sit in an office with normal humans bundled up in two or three layers because it's always cold in here, I am wearing a short-sleeve shirt, jeans rolled up to my knees, and no socks or shoes (again, thanks to said allergic reaction). Am I cold? Nope. Slightly chilly? Nope.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am an incubator.
Do you remember feeling like this? How did you deal with your final few weeks of pregnancy?
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