I’ve reached the 8th Month of Pregnancy and I’m feeling less of the ‘Chrissy Teigen glow’ and more of the ‘Jowly Insurence Hound bloat’. I seem to be carrying the majority of my baby-weight under my chin like a sort of fleshy saddlebag, but it does have its upside – I’m able to use it as a sort of built-in travel pillow – perfect for naps on the go!
In the last few weeks I’m also urinating with the frequency of an 80 year-old man with a prostate the size of a melon. This is because the baby pressing down on my insides has reduced my bladder capacity to roughly that of a months. Every time I need the loo it feels like I’m holding back a Hoover Dam-amount of water, but when the time comes to relieve myself, a disappointing trickle is all I can manage…until 20 minutes passes and I need to repeat the lavatory song and dance all over again.
Another telling sign that I’m struggling to keep the waterworks in check this pregnancy is that the other day my phone auto-corrected the word ‘your’ to ‘UTI’ highlighting just how often I’m typing these annoying little letters into my phone. This whole pregnancy has been one giant, literal, pain in my vagina. In fact, if this baby is a girl I’m pretty sure I’ll be obliged to call her ‘candida’ or ‘cystitis’.
But as we’re nearing splashdown, I have massively enjoyed this baby’s 24-hour workout routine (note I nearly called its movements ‘womb gymnastics’ until I realised how utterly wrong that sounds!). This baby has no set ‘busy time’, instead it performs a Latin-jazz infusion Gangnam dance every five minutes throughout the day. I know I’ll miss this feeling the most…except the tap-dancing on the top of my cervix…that I can probably live without. Not long now, baby!