I sit up in bed and realize my tummy is in the way of everything. It's past ten. I should have been up already, but I'm trying to make up for the hours of sleep I lost the night before due to my three ritual potty breaks. Silas left for work two hours ago and all that's left in bed are me and the baby in my belly.
For some reason, every morning when I wake up I am surprised by how big my third trimester belly is. "Oh! Hi, baby! I forgot you were there for a second." A smile creeps across my face as I look down at my tummy. I don't have to look far, my belly has now reached my sternum. In response, Baby Snider kicks my belly button, which has not yet popped out. "What do you want to do today?" I ask. Talking to Baby Snider is so much more fun than talking to myself. Baby Snider wriggles around a bunch. I feel like my guts are writhing. But it's just my baby. A sharp kick to my bladder reminds me I need to make it to the bathroom. Right now.
It's laundry day, so Baby Snider and I prepare to eat a heavy breakfast before we go out. Me? I'd be perfectly happy with a cup of yogurt. But the child in my belly is demanding an egg, ham and cheese bagel. I give into Baby Snider, knowing that if I don't eat enough I will end up either completely exhausted or in an epsom salt bath, trying to calm my contracting uterus. "You're making Mommy very fat." I say, as I pat my tummy. Baby Snider kicks me again, I can almost hear baby laughter.
After forcing down an enormous bagel I try to find some clothes. Most of my favorite items are dirty (thus laundry day). I sift through what's left of my maternity clothes, tossing aside the ones I've outgrown and the ones that are for colder weather. For the third time this morning I am thankful that Silas installed the air conditioning in our bedroom over the weekend. What a relief from the heat which has been making me miserable and swollen! I opt for shorts and a t-shirt, all my cute clothes are dirty.
Once I'm dressed I realize I forgot to put on belly butter, but I'm too lazy to take off my clothes and apply it. Not the first time this has happened, which is probably half the reason why stretch marks have started to appear on my hips. None on my tum yet, but I've still got twelve weeks to go and I have no doubt they will make their dreaded appearance soon. I don't complain to Silas about them, though, he says I'm just vain. I probably am. I remind myself that they won't matter once I get to hold Baby Snider in my arms, anyway.
We're almost ready to go! I pack up the laundry in the big red suitcase and go in search of my flip flops, the only shoes I'm still comfortable wearing. For a second I imagine how hard it's going to be to go to the laundromat with a newborn. I choose to ignore that thought and think, instead, about how much fun it will be to push Baby Snider around Bloomfield in the Winnie the Pooh stroller that's folded up in my bedroom. Only 12 more weeks!
"Ok, time to go, baby." I tell Baby Snider, more to motivate myself to leave the comfort of my air conditioned home, than to alert my child as to our activity. I carefully lower the suitcase, step by step, down the flight of stairs between our living space and our front door. It's warm out, but Baby Snider is oblivious to any temperature change, experiencing only the perfect state of my womb.
Part of me wants Baby Snider to stay in there, safe and comfortable, keeping me company, forever.