Earlier this evening, I swiveled in my chair to get up and get a shower. I pulled my feet out from under my desk and yelped, "Holy $#@!" because suddenly my feet also looked seven months pregnant. I've been going around saying (in my head) when I look into mirrors and bump into doors, "I had a waist once," and if feet could think mine would be thinking, "I had ankles once." Welcome to late pregnancy, I know. I suspect this is the point where that "Only two months until we need to be ready/get to meet our baby/have to try to keep a fragile human being alive" we've been saying to each other in eager but panicky voices becomes "An entire two months until I get my body back," at least for me.
Tomorrow is our first childbirth education class. They're holding it at the brilliantly-planned hour of 5 PM, so I'll be leaving work a little early the next four weeks to attend. The lady I called to sign up told me to bring a blanket, a pillow, and my "support coach." I was a little concerned about the blanket and pillow thing--it screams "exercise that will make us feel really stupid" to me--but now I'm thinking anything that involves lying down, and therefore keeping my feet elevated, is probably the right stuff.
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