As my helpful iPad app reminds me, I crossed a milestone on Monday and entered my third trimester. Right on cue, things started changing. To wit:
1. Baby is no longer kicking me from inside some deep recess in my abdomen, his movements arriving like soft ripples on the surface. I now have distinct body parts — knobbly parts, at that — pushing against whatever thin layer of tissue is keeping Baby apart from the rest of the world and then sliiiiiiiiiiding around as he gets comfortable.
I have never seen the movie Alien, and I know with certainty at this moment that I never will.
2. I feel the need to yawn. Incessantly. During my therapy sessions, I have to stifle an urge to yawn wide enough to display my adenoids right in the middle of some tale of woe and anguish from a client. Then realize I forgot to listen to what they were saying in my efforts to concentrate on not-yawning.
I feel pretty confident this combines to make me look like a demented, squinty-eyed half-wit with an odd facial tic. Much more conducive for the baring of souls and the confiding of secrets.**
3. The skin across my abdomen is now stretched so tight it feels completely inevitable that it will rip down the middle if I ever were to yawn unguardedly.
4. In SPITE of this very strong sensation, I feel a compelling urge to drain a liter of water in one gulp. …all of which would almost certainly burst out of a 100 small holes in my abdomen, colander-fashion, because there is simply no more room inside to hold anything, let alone an additional bucket of fluid.
5. I now waddle. Yesterday — no waddle. Today — waddle.
Also, because I seem so far to have put on no weight anywhere except where the baby is, I look at any given moment like I’m about to tip forward and flail about on the ground, helpless to right myself.
** In the writing and proofing of this paragraph alone, I have yawned 27 times. For the love of Pete, what is the matter with me?!