Body movin'

This morning was my second birthing preparation class. The first one involved a lot of breathing and relaxing, and I felt pretty good about that. I know a bit about breathing, and I've been quite the master at relaxing recently. This second class, however, involved a lot of stretching and positioning, and twisting. That would have been ok had I taken a shower, worn a pair of pants that had been recently washed, or not worn leather shoes with bare feet and opted to walk half of the route to the midwife's office. I just have to say that I am glad most midwives have a hippie streak, because I'm pretty sure I was a little more rank than her normal 9 am patients.

I tried to tell myself to get over it, to just go with the exercises and not think about my personal odor. However, about six minutes after I managed to convince myself that my funk was my funk and she probably wasn't even aware of it, she got up off the practice mat and OPENED THE DOOR FOR AIR.

I would also like to point out, for the record, that stretching is not my forte and never has been. If you share any common genes with me, you are probably aware of the flexibility danger zones: legs, thighs, legs, legs and more thighs. I'm just not bendy. And I'm even less bendy when a basketball is attached to my body. The midwife who teaches me is one of those tall, graceful, yoga types -- judging by her body and movements I'd say she might even have some ballet training in her -- so really nothing makes you feel like an awkward cow more than having Miss Elegance Herself position your smelly feet so as to optimize stretching of the inner thigh. Sure, SHE can do it perfectly because she is bendable and wears a size 2 even though she's at least 5'8. Me? Not so much.

I'm getting to the Just Not Caring point, though. By almost all accounts, I'm in my 8th month, and I think that gives me the right to be smelly and non-stretchy. Hell, I was glad I was able to get up off the mat without difficulty.

And for all the trauma of this morning, I've been feeling great and have even been able to accept my quickly growing figure. Given my strange history in the body image department, I am mainly just relieved by the fact that I am ok with things as they are now, there was a point around month six where I was uber self-concious. I know I'll have some weight to lose post-partum, but I am comfortable with what I have gained. I've got some face fat, which I was hoping to avoid, but it came on quickly and just never left. My discomfort is still at a bearable level, although I feel like Romulus is really high and just sort of chilling in my ribs at this point; I think that's his butt. It makes me feel so full all the time, which just gets old after awhile. But these are minor complaints.

The only One Big Complaint I have is my boobs, as they are just out of control and uncomfortable at all times. I feel constricted, and the huge red welts I have on them by the end of the day seem to validate that feeling. I have searched high and low for a bra that might come close to fitting me around these parts, to no avail. I am convinced that the four French women with "strong chests" (I love that euphemism) all buy their bras in Germany. I refuse to slap down 50 bucks or more for something that will give me comfort for anywhere from two more days to two more months. At the rate they've grown, you can't know how long any stage will last. I know my boobs will only get bigger (and the thought seriously terrifies me) so I don't see the point in investing in a breast-feedable granny bra until I have some idea of just how far into granny-ville I need to go. For now, I just wear what I can while out and about, and as soon as I come home, I get in my most comfortable shelf-bra tank top and let them breathe. It's like I'm living in Victorian times or something, I swear, releasing the corset that has been suffocating me for hours.

Otherwise, here's me at 34 weeks. I like this picture, which is why I am sharing it. It looks like the way I feel about this pregancy, if that makes any sense -- just sort of content and natural and not all that put-together. That outfit, by the way, is my uniform around the house. I wear it all weekend long and every night past 10 pm.