After a very long 4-day wait, MFH and I got the news: We’ve officially been approved for our new, much bigger, apartment!
I had no idea how stressed I was about this until I got the news. It must have been the same for MFH, because when I called him he let out this breath for what seemed like a full minute. Isn’t it funny how you don’t realize how much you’re holding in until you relax and let it all go?
I can’t even express how happy this makes me. November 1st I will have a whole room to decorate for the Spawn! I’ll also have more space for all our books…and everything else. It’s two streets over from where we are now, so we know exactly what we’re getting into with the neighborhood.
It’s also about 400 sq ft bigger than what we’re in now. That makes it so much easier for me to imagine little toddling feet running around.
In our current place there’s barely enough room for MFH, Piper, and me. The books have taken us over. In the new place we’ll be able to put up at least three more Billy Bookcases (as our living room slowly turns into a library….).The idea of spreading out in general is pretty comforting.
Which brings me to another topic altogether…
I had a convo on the phone with my Mom the other day. We were talking about, basically, how I’m kinda stoked for the growing belly. I’m fully aware that it’s not fat, it’s a baby. I’m happy to wear maternity clothes, because I feel like the cut and style tends to make me look pregnant, rather than “chunky.” I also admitted freely that I may change my tune completely come the discomforts of trimester 3.
Then, low and behold, the next day my reader feed was full of women coming in on one side or the other of this “I feel beautiful, I’m growing a human” vs. “I feel like a big fat blimp” debate. It was like all these people had listened to our conversation and were weighing in. And it kinda bummed me out a bit.
Well, not all of it. A lot of it was really supportive and wonderful and how I wish all preggos could feel about themselves. But some of it was really bad you guys. Some of it had photos of women who would look good if someone told me they weren’t pregnant…and they were being really, super hard on themselves.
It brought me back to the convo with Mom, and something she said that really hurt my heart. When she was preggo with my brother, my Dad informed her that he just thought she looked fat. It kind of blows my mind that 1. he would say that in the first place and 2. my mother didn’t kick him in his dumb face.
I certainly don’t think MFH has any particular fetish for my expanding tummy, but I do know that he’s pretty happy with me being happy. (And I’m sure the spectacular boobs don’t hurt. He is a Marilyn guy, after all.)
But the fact that he is super supportive of my curves no matter how they actually curve probably makes this a lot easier on me. Women on my baby boards talk about the same maternity underwear I have and how their significant other makes fun of them when they wear it. MFH comments on their cuteness…or my cuteness in them. And, just like most things in my life, his approval/support means that I get dressed every day feeling comfortable (OMG soooo comfortable) and confident in my appearance.
Much like with the decompression of worry about the new apartment, there is something so wonderful about accepting your body and its changes and just letting go.
So I’ve had to keep a tube of cocoa butter at work as well as home to fend off the itchy belly skin as it expands; who cares? I’m comfortable. (And I also smell like chocolate. :p) Does it really matter that I sometimes wear my regular pants and other times wear my maternity ones?
I used to read Go Fug Yourself a lot. (I still do, but not half as regularly as I used to…I actually am busy at work these days.) One thing the the Fug Girls used to say often was, “GO UP A SIZE.” In their [paraphrased] words, “No one will know what the tag on your dress says but you. And you’ll be able to sit down AND breathe at the same time.”
It’s funny, but true. I remember a time when I would not buy an item of clothing if I couldn’t fit the size I thought I should be in it. Can’t get into those beautiful suede pants in a zero? Why don’t I try a two? I CAN’T! I’m not that big!! (OMG, I’m so glad I’m over that mindset. I look back now and roll my eyes at myself, totally unimpressed.)
Is it really worth fitting into my non-maternity jeans, if when I push them down they cause a bit of blood flow issues? It might be for someone else, but it sure isn’t worth it for me. I bought a pair of convertible panel Old Navy jeans. I can roll the elasticy part down or pull it up to my boobs, depending on the style of top I’m wearing. They are real jeans to about an inch above my pelvic bone in the front and almost as high as regular jeans in the back. I’m so excited to wear them, I’m planning a whole event outfit around them.
Maybe it’s me making the extra room, or maybe it’s just that time…but I got my first confirmed Spawn movements yesterday. I’m still fairly certain the weird lapping water feeling was Spawn, but yesterday was a lot more aggressive. I had a long, very specific pressure (like a stretch) on one tiny part of my belly while in the shower…and then later I got more of a swatting sort of feeling around the same area. Definitely nothing like a kick yet, but really cool regardless.
I can’t wait until MFH can feel them. I think he’ll enjoy that. He’s already threatening to teach the Spawn how to tickle me. (I’m am ridiculously ticklish everywhere but the bottom of my feet. Yes, everywhere.) It’s annoying and I hate being tickled, so of course this idea is hilarious to him. That’s alright. I’m pretty sure Puppin and Spawn will team up against us soon enough…then he’ll be sorry. :p
It’s a happy day. (Happier day, even.) I’m bringing a bottle of champagne home for MFH to enjoy, and he’s bringing me a Chipotle burrito. Celebrations will then commence!
Feel free to stop by… 😉