I don’t know about you, but when I get a new pair of shoes, if I love them, I regress. I become a seven year old. I can’t stop looking down at them. I check myself out in store windows and any shiny surface. I stand in a way that will hopefully get other people to bask in the glory of the shoes.
That’s kinda what it is like with this baby bump. It is weird because it doesn’t feel like it sticks out that far. So I have to keep looking down to see it. I need to make sure it is really there. As I walk down the street, I can’t stop looking at my profile in every window. Who’s that pregnant lady? Look at her cute dress (thanks, Nelly) and that bump? Adorable.
But you know how sometimes new shoes hurt? Since I can’t feel my skin actually out that far, sometimes I forget that it is so big. Just doing an everyday chore is like trying to park your mom’s new minivan for the first time. So I burnt the baby. I mean, my belly. I was cooking baked ziti. We keep the casserole dishes in that high shelf above the oven, because we don’t often make casseroles. So there I am, boiling ziti in my big pasta pot. Then I reach up over the pasta pot to try to fetch said casserole dish. Boing! Burnt belly. I forgot it was there. It doesn’t help that I now have less than half the brain cells I started with seven months ago.
It was so hard to get pregnant, that even with this big belly, sometimes it is hard to believe it is true. No, I’m not just standing in a maternity clothing store with one of those fake baby bumps on. There’s a very kicky, very real dude in there growing and growing. With one foot into my third trimester, I am both humbled and obnoxiously self-centered. I guess that’s not entirely new. But these shoes are. Cute, right?