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21weeks3days worth of pregnancy belly


21weeks3days worth of pregnancy belly
Originally uploaded by rainsinger.

In the course of last week I've really felt a growth spurt in the belly, and nonw all but two of my Old Life skirts are inaccessible to me. Neverteless, I continue to be grateful for the relative smallness of the belly and the resultant kidness to my back. I think when The Belly truly starts expanding with gleeful joy I will spend the days flailing and weeping like an overturned turtle.

My ongoing mobility is not something I take for granted. Considering the fondness of my pre-pregnant back to trap nerves or spasm every day I can still bounce around is like a gift from heaven, which combined with the nesting instinct has seen me buzzing around the house like a crazed insect maniacally tidying the baby's room and getting rid of boxes and boxes of clutter which have followed me around.

Yesterday we were in Toys R Us scouting up some presents for Z's nephews and as we strolled out all happy and laughing and lugging our loot we went past a man who was trying to get people to pledge money to an organisation that tries to fulfill the wishes of terminally ill children.

I spent the car journey home in tears, undone by my memories from a few years ago, of visiting my mother on the neurosurgery ward and listening to the alternating weeping and brave little monologues of the children with brain tumours. All of them had heads made huge by bandages. Most were dying.

People Like That Are The Only People Here by Lorrie Moore is an account of this, wry and devastating. Reading it is like weathering a storm, plunging into bottomless water on a held breath. The concepts of babies & children and cancer should never have to meet, let alone mix. Their marriage is an aberration, an absurdity.

On the neuro ward, the terrible bravery of everyone was painful to behold. The tightly-smiling, determindely-optimistic parents and the heart-breakingly, long-suffering kids who submitted to test after test after test and dragged their tubes and drips around without protest. But the worst thing, the thing that used to kill me every time were the toys. Rows and rows of balloons and plush toys with their big eyes and cheerful smiles. Every time I saw them I'd feel my throat clench like a fist and it would be all I could do to keep from crying.

Generally speaking, I am quite good in death situations. I can be sufficiently together to be fully present and helpful to the ones who are dying, just so long as there are no pets or stuffed toys involved of course.

And naturally the marriage of pregnancy and memory means that these days I don't even reach the tight-throat stage. I just go straight through to crying in between reminscenses of how fucking lucky I am.

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