For the most part, I have really enjoyed pregnancy and I've had a pretty easy one. It is a truly incredible experience for women to be able to have. I love feeling her move. I'm in awe by the fact that there is another human being growing inside of me. Even when she was just the size of a little bean, I loved that the (sometimes strange) things your body does are preparing you to grow a new life inside of you. I love strangers stopping you on the street to find out when you are due and what you are having. People smile at you more. I love watching how John reacts to my growing belly and his excitement about becoming a dad. I love buying baby clothes and all the other fun baby gear. Seriously, there is so much cool stuff out there. I love decorating the nursery, creating a space where your child will find comfort and grow. Folding all of the little onesis, hanging all of the decorations. The list goes on and on. Sure, there are some things that are a bit annoying about pregnancy...the exhaustion, the back aches, juice instead of cocktails at a holiday party, the horror pregnancy/delivery stories that strangers love to tell you, birth videos. But those are all incredibly insignificant compared to the amazing stuff happening. That is, until you look down one day and realize you have cankles. After a particularly crazy day at work three weeks ago, I came home and took off my shoes to find this:
Those lines on the top of my foot - indents from where the strap had dug into my puffy feet. The dark coloring near my heel - pooled blood. Notice that you can't tell where my ankle ends and calf begins. This was the day I temporarily retired any shoes with even an inkling of a heel. John's been a saint and given me nightly food rubs, but I know it's mostly because he enjoys seeing what funny shapes he can press into my swollen flesh. I'm now a flat shoe wearing, cankle sporting, pregnant chick. Baby...if you are listening...it's time to come out.
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