Mammoth Mama

I'm huge. There's no nicer way to say it.

The other day, I posted this picture of my six-month-pregnant self on Facebook. I took it in my bathroom mirror right before I headed out to teach my 9 a.m. Zumba class (hence the tasseled pants).

Let me tell you - even I was astounded at how cute and baby-bumpish I look in this photo. It has to be the lighting, or my position, or the all-black-ness of my outfit. I got all kinds of, "Oh, you're just adorable!" and, "Aww, it's all belly!" comments. And I felt like a total fraud ... like I had Photoshopped my head onto a decent-looking pregnant body. Because, y'all? In real life, I swear I look much bigger than this. I'm already getting the stares like I'm about to give birth in the grocery store aisle, the reactions of gaping disbelief when I tell people I'm only six months along, and the "is-there-more-than-one-in-there" question (answer: there isn't).

Yesterday, I went to the doctor for a routine checkup - and of course, stepping on the scale was the first order of business. Yuck.

"Hmm, quite a little jump there," murmured the nurse. "Ten pounds since last time." Then she scanned my chart and raised an eyebrow. "Actually, you've gained ten pounds every time," she said. "That makes thirty pounds total. You've already gained more weight in these first six months than you should throughout your entire pregnancy. And you've still got a whole trimester to go."

Thanks for laying it out there. Tell me something I don't know, a-hole.

"Um, at least it's consistent?" I joked feebly. She wasn't amused. And I swear she didn't believe me when I told her - honestly - that I work out for six hours a week. I might as well have told her I was Angelina Jolie's adopted daughter from Outer Mongolia.

Then it was time to measure my belly - you know, where they find your pubic bone and then run a measuring tape to the top of your uterus. And she literally gasped in surprise, then consulted my chart again, then measured a second time.

"You've always measured right on target, but now you're measuring six weeks ahead of your due date," she said in disbelief. "I'm going to ask the doctor what he thinks we should do."

So that explains why I cried to Curtis the other day that I feel about ten months pregnant. I swear, I do. My left hip and back ache perpetually, I feel like I've been kicked in the crotch, I don't sleep comfortably, I waddle when I walk, and I can't breathe - which are things that usually only happen in the last month or two. At least before now.

Anyway, they've scheduled an ultrasound tomorrow to see if baby Corbin is just a behemoth or if I'm carrying extra amniotic fluid or what. Personally? I'm banking on behemoth. My boys have a habit of being huge.

And apparently, so do I ... even despite the Zumba. Because my thighs and double chin are just as pregnant as the rest of me.

That brings me to the whole point of this post in the first place: expectant mother parking. Do they have it where you live? In my town, there are expectant mother parking spaces at several shopping establishments. They're up front, right up next to the handicapped spaces. And they are awesome.

Except for one thing: non-pregnant people parking all up in there and acting like they're entitled.

Not too much can irritate me faster these days (except for my kids, who still - and will probably always - hold the record). I'm walking around like a blimp with legs and trying to corral three boys and groceries, so I think if anybody deserves an expectant mother space, it's me. Yet I swear, 95% of the people I see parking in those spaces are most certainly not pregnant. And if they are, nobody can tell; they're like five weeks along and have no need for special parking as yet.  

I don't park in handicapped spaces. Ever. Why? Because I'm not handicapped. I'm capable of walking. Would I like a space right up front? Of course. But those spaces are reserved for people who are handicapped. Just like the pregnant parking is reserved for people who are pregnant. Why is that so effing difficult to comprehend?

Last night I went to Walmart, and was totally psyched to get a pregnant space, because it almost never happens. As I was bent over in the backseat, huffing and puffing to get Coby strapped into his car seat, I heard an exasperated sigh behind me and turned to see a dude waiting for me to get my big arse out of his way so he could open his car door.

He - and his rail-thin girlfriend - were parked in the next "expectant mother" space.

And in the expectant mother space on the other side of me?

A fat guy munching on a bag of French fries.

I almost went off, y'all.

After I got the kids all buckled in, I made an extra-waddly lap around my car, just so those around me would see that some people actually do need these spaces and that more pregnant women would probably use them if non-pregnant asshats didn't park there.


I'm sure it didn't make any of them feel bad, but hey, a girl can hope.







*Oh, and PS - I know this is probably dumb, but after a couple of comments I got on my last post, I feel the need to clarify something. I don't make my kids separate breakfasts (or any meal, for that matter) ... the oatmeal thing was different flavors, but it was all oatmeal. I won't make one kid oatmeal, another cereal, another pancakes, etc. ... they either all eat the same thing or they don't eat. If they don't eat what's put before them, they know they don't get a snack until the next mealtime. And at lunch and supper, they sit at the table for the duration of the meal - it's just that at breakfast time, I'm running around trying to get my morning routine accomplished before taking Colin to school, and don't have the time to make sure everyone stays seated. 


Okay, I feel like a better mom now. Thanks. :)