Pregnancy Is A Symphony, And That Farting Is The Percussion Section

In all my glory. Taken spur-of-the-moment with my iPhone, which explains the quality.
And the fact that it didn't even occur to us to close the cabinet door.
The photo is therefore both of me, 36 weeks pregnant, and my livingroom cabinets.

Please, allow me this disclaimer:

I hate potty humor and have no taste for it. I detest movies that focus on poop/fart jokes for laughs (sorry, but yes; I hated Dumb & Dumber) and for the first many years of my life, wouldn't even think of uttering poop words aloud, ever. EVER. Slowly, sadly, over the last several years, as if by design, Ben, Emily and Ish have together worn me down. Three against one is a tough battle.

These days I still don't think pooping or farting is funny in any way, but at least I can acknowledge that these words -- and yes, perhaps even these functions -- exist, and recognize that a lot of people do find the whole business of, well, "business" amusing.

Thus, when I began blogging, I could not have foreseen the day I would use the word "farting" in the title of a blog post. For the record, I do not consider this growth on my part.

I find that the best, most moving songs in the world are those that begin with a simple melody and single instrument, and build and build until the whole last verse and chorus are bursting with interest and instrumentation. The the best example of this that immediately springs to mind is the song, "One Day More" from Les Miserables. Each of the first verses are of varying melodies, sung by their primary characters. Then they all somehow come together and the different voices and melodies fit and right there is why people who love Broadway love Broadway. Totally goose-bump worthy. Even the 11,000th time you've listened to it.

(The Frank Sinatra duet of "Mac the Knife" with Jimmy Buffet also came to mind. The song doesn't even have percussion to begin with, but by the rousing end there's an entire big band orchestra wailing and two singers who, let's face it, hold their own.)

(There are probably a million other great examples.)

But in case you didn't know where I was going with this, THIS is what pregnancy has been like. At least, for me.

See, in the beginning, all these strange things happened to my body. I knew to expect some of them, while others came as a complete shock.

I looked up for this self-photo, on the idea that it's boring to look at pictures of me
looking into the camera (see below).
Except I couldn't see what I looked like.
I don't think I ever make this face.

The first trimester was pretty okay. I got bone tired by 9 p.m. every night. I only felt nausea if I went too long without eating. I had no cravings and no difference of appetite. My face broke out a little more. My boobs were sore. Otherwise, I had very mild instances of any of the HA, YOU'RE PREGNANT issues: gas, heartburn, aches, bloating, swelling, weird dreams, crazy hormonal fluctuations (crying at the sad mop not withstanding).

The second trimester was miserable, but mostly because it started with a month-long cold that I refused to take any over the counter medication for. So fatigue continued to be my biggest complaint. Oh, my skin decided to go from "oilier than usual" to "the most sensitive, dry skin on the planet." I also stopped being able to remember things. But given that Ish and I got married, bought a house, and moved (and I left my job) all during this trimester, I think it went quite well.

The beginning of the third trimester was even better. Aside from the strange butt-muscle pain and general aches and pains, pregnancy was just not so bad.

It still isn't so bad.

But about three weeks ago, it happened.

All the fun little melodies and harmonies of my body's pregnancy decided to play together for the big finale! The Grand Conductor has decided it's time to step it up! We're heading into the big finish, apparently, and it's time for great flourishes! and crescendos! and 76 trombones! and fat ladies singing!

Ish asked if he could take a picture of my belly from below.
He got down on the floor.
I am not sure if this is a funny picture or just really scary.

In the last three weeks alone, it's all hit. And in case you were hoping I'd spare you what all "all" I mean, sorry. Just skip on over this next bit.

I haven't seemed to gain any weight, but I quite clearly have a melon-sized baby inside, alternately bouncing off my diaphram (so that I can't breathe so well) and banging into my bladder (so that I have to pee, urgently, even when I don't). My nose gets stuffed with fluids just for fun. I am hungry all the time but am always also full. I sort of have to battle with myself to eat anything other than ice cream, which I have never otherwise craved in my life and also which -- fun for Ish! -- I don't digest too well. Cue the timpani! I am not especially swollen (my ankles, for example, are still intact), but noticed that I had to buy flip flops in a half-size larger than usual and I can't wear my rings anymore. My skin was doing okay, but now my legs are incredibly dry and my face breaks into the occasional hive(?). The butt pain hasn't gone away, and is now joined with the fun sensation of my hips gradually detaching themselves from my thighs. The boobs have gotten re-sore. Dreams are getting weirder and weirder. I am having a harder time trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. Standing, walking, climbing stairs, etc. has become a bit of a challenge now that such activities require my stomach muscles to hold up a bowling ball while so doing.

Glorious, I tell you!

But still, I will say that it really hasn't been anywhere near as hard as I feared. I absolutely consider myself lucky -- to experience pregnancy at all, and to have it be as smooth as it's been. Even now, with this crazy cacophonic climax.