I think I might be a tad unbearable right now, because I feel I am now transformed from nauseated, exhausted, bitchy and wildly hormonal woman into second trimester diva.
And folks, let me tell you, I AM GORGEOUS.
(and no, you're not getting a picture because taking a pic would likely shatter this all-too-fragile sense of self importance. nothing like encountering one's digital image to be abruptly brought back to reality)
The reason I write this post is to conduct an anthroplogical study on myself, for I write secure in the knowledge that in, oh, say mid-to-late August I will be spewing diatribes about how fricking ENORMOUS and SWOLLEN and BOVINE I am, and OH Poor Me I Still Have Three Months to Go. So it will be interesting to see the contrast. So interesting.
The other reason I write this post is to be insufferable and shove it down your throats that I feel pretty.
Because, let's face it, while all of us can bond over feeling less than happy with our body images (amen) how often do we get a chance to say "you know what, I am sizzlin' right now"? If someone female compliments you on looking good, it is much more appropriate to say "really?" and mutter something along the lines of "you should have seen me try and squeeze into blah-blah" than to say "Yeah, I KNOW." OK, that last one would be a little revolting. But you see my point--us leddies bond over mutual frustration with our bodies. And I am down with that.
So, I am currently inhabiting a very alien (and, I know, brief) moment in my life where I like what I see in the mirror. I am in purdy-pregnancy stage right now, what my friend refers to as "Hollywood Nine Months." I have a delightful excuse to let my stomach flop over my jeans. I have a whole new(ish) wardrobe of stylish (these-will-never-fit-me-in-2-months) pregnancy clothes. (Yay for Maternity Goucho Pants!!) I have lost a bit of weight because of the nausea, and so far the llbs are not piling back on at an alarming rate quite yet. And I battled to continue exercising through the first trimester so I could get back on track when my energy came back again. So now I participate with a certain amount of vigor in my aerobics and interval training class, and feel entirely smug about being the lady-with-the-belly in those classes (commence making red-haired pot bellied voodoo dolls now...)
Boobs--nicely reinflated thankyouverymuch, and I can now fill a bra (for once in my life). I even like to give them a surreptitious squeeze now and then to reassure myself of their bounteousness. (this can be embarrassing if someone happens to stop by your office to check on something, so be warned)
Skin--even-toned and zitfree (for once in my life). I also enjoy running my hands over my cheeks in Aveeno commercial style, reveling in its smooth and resilient surface. Sigh...
And so on and so forth.
So, I write this as a small gift to myself. You were beautiful once, Joy. Hold on to that, 'K? Because, people, I am SO on borrowed time. I know this as I enjoy a lunchdate with my husband and gorge upon Gyros and Fries. I know this when I suggest a "quick stop at World Market" afterwards to buy my beloved English chocolate--Flakes, Double Deckers, Maltesers--and eat the lot at my desk during the afternoon. I know this when I delve into startling quantities of normally forbidden cheese "uh. for the protein, and the calcium..." I know this as I sleep in on Saturday mornings and "oops" miss the 9am "cardio buffet" at the Y.
Yep, this lady is ready to blow, so you've been warned. And let me apologize in advance for all the ensuing posts about water-retention, nothing fits, sleep positions, "I've not pooed in 6 days and I am afraid, very afraid. Hold Me." posts to come... I'm sorry, so sorry.
p.s. I did have some amusing images to add to this little account. pictures of linen-clad, softfocus pregnant ladies. and doubledecker choc bars, but please imagine them instead as blogger is not letting me post them.
p.p.s. Grrrrr... I am ready to break up with blogger, anyone else??