30

"It's going to feel like a very big poop. It's a baby."

Or so says our childbirth class instructor.

She knows the way to my heart - potty talk. Apparently the same bundle of nerves that tell you to take a shit, the ones that give you the unmistakable urge to push, well those get fired in the process of labor. Yeah, class was mostly about the stages of labor and comfortable positions, but what resonated with both Alex and me is the concept that I'm really, truly, actually, going to shit out a baby in just two months! That, my friends, is exciting business.

I'm 30 weeks along and still feeling pretty darn good. Actually, although I know I bitch a lot about expanding waistlines and gaining weight, but I love this stage of being pregnant. I'm big enough that public feels comfortable asking me about baby, but I'm still not so big that my belly gives me a constant backache or my legs are chafing each other raw.

We are still both super excited about parenthood, although we can't help but feel like we are playing pretend. We still haven't decided on a name. I still have no core strength and have to use what's left of my arm strength to rotate myself from side to side in bed. I'm still wearing running shoes to work for better support on those days where I do a lot of standing (inpatient days when we have lots of X-ray swallow studies). I seem to be growing by they hour. My supervisor was out sick one day and came back surprised by the roundness of my belly. People are no longer asking me if we meant to get pregnant. I still love candy and ice cream. I still resolve daily to start exercising beyond the twice daily dog walk. I'm still exhausted after work and spend as much time on the couch as anywhere else. I still LOVE to hear Alex talk to my belly and tell secrets to his little girl. I still feel her kick very regularly, and especially in the evenings or after doing a bit of "exercise" ( e.g. Climbing 1 flight of stairs at the hospital).

But really, if I were to sum up the 30th week of pregnancy, commercial style, it would go something like this:

"Holy heartburn, Batman! Reflux: the gift that keeps on giving. All. Night. Long."

My baby belly, and my rapidly disappearing belly button.

Week 30! Remind a pregnant lady to never, ever, wear stretchy pants in public. At least not if they don't have Spanx or some super-techno-savvy lift-and-tuck-and-squeeze-and-miraculize fabric in them. At least not me. I shouldn't even be allowed to prance around that way in my own house. But luckily Alex only wears his glasses to drive at night. And that's only if he remembers in the first place. If not, I have to drive. At least from the backseat. Anyway, here's what 30 weeks looked like, and I'm already twice that size as I write this!