Lately, I am consumed with worry. Ok, ok, Sean, I will be honest: I am always consumed with worry. But seriously, you guys, this time it’s really bad. Here’s what’s eating this knocked up wife. Two weeks ago, I had some abdominal pains. So, being the worry wart I am, I called my doctor for some reassurance. His staff told me to come on in for an exam. Everything appeared to be going just swimmingly (ha! get it?), and I was sent along my way with strict instructions to go home and rest and not go to the gym for a few days. I complied, though honestly, I need my little exercise. Makes me feel better about myself. Even if the scale keeps creeping (not so slowly) upward.
Anyway, the next day I head to work, and I feel that same abdominal pain again. Worried, I head to the bathroom, where I discover that the pain is merely gas. GAS. Are you freaking kidding me?! I went to an emergency doctor visit cause I had to toot. Super. Well, it turns out, gas is no joke when you’re pregnant. I have never ever felt pain like that before. It was like I could feel the gas IN MY ARM PIT! It was truly one of the most excrutiating feelings ever. I’m sure the old husband loved it as well.
So, yeah. There’s my embarrassing story for you.
In other news, Mr. Swimmy is the size of a spaghetti squash this week. Which, while not so very delectable, is HUGE. I believe that he tops the scales at nearly a full pound this week. That’s like a box of sugar. Pick one up next time you’re in the grocery store, and imagine that rolling around and doing aerobics in your belly. Pretty amazing. Especially because it was so tiny just a few months ago. Literally just a ball of cells in July.
Anyway, all appears to be sailing smoothly for the moment. The one thing I’m looking forward to is Thanksgiving. Maternity pants = a fat girl’s new BFF.