I’ve got a few more complaints about this pregnancy thing. I’m in my third trimester, so I’m getting big, I’m getting smooshed, I’m getting squished.
Which Tornado S I was so big, that I was only comfortable in our wing-back chair because it made me sit up straight. Once I was watching a movie with BFF and The Husband, and The Husband kept asking me to come over and sit with him because I would be more comfortable on our saggy leather coaches. Finally, the BFF told him to look at me, I was fine where I was. And I was. It was the only way to breathe easy and allow digestion.
That’s another thing. Digestion. Not only does it take For. Ev. Er. I now have a tinier stomach. Those two things are not good when one is trying to get some sleep. Not good at all. When I was pregnant with Tornado E, I learned how not good it was and that you can actually have vomit come out your nose.
If laboring like a hugely, grotesque woman wasn’t bad enough, I do two things during pregnancy that I NEVER do at any other time. I snore. And I drool. The Husband complains bitterly over my snoring. But he has no room to talk. His friends think I must be a saint because every one of them can tell stories of sharing a hotel room with The Husband and not being able to sleep, contemplating snuffing him out with a pillow. My old roommates on the other hand will swear I never snore. The drooling is plain embarrassing, especially in this pregnancy where I can’t sleep on my side. The stupid drool pools on the corner of my mouth, drying there, creating a sore.
Now you can see why I feel so damn sexy.
Yeah, not so much.