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Heather's Pregnancy Journal

Week 25 ~ June 18, 2002
~ Singer Extraordinaire

My dream has finally come true. I have a captive audience for my singing. I can sing opera; I can sing soprano or alto; I can sing in my best Melissa Etheridge voice. My audience cannot escape! I am the star of my show! Yes, you guessed it, I'm singing to my baby! And not the one I married! I can't sing to Steve-he runs and hides. I literally see some semblance of a tail tuck between his legs as he dashes into another room. Even my dog won't listen to my singing. He begs to go outdoors the moment I begin.

Ah, but Sam cannot run! He must listen, and I just know he loves it. After all, with what has he got to compare it? When I sing to him, no matter the time of day, I feel him move around. I'm sure he's inside hotel momma snapping his fingers and tapping his feet to my rhythmic cadences. Okay, maybe my cadences don't exactly carry a rhythm, but it is a nice thought, isn't it?

So I can no longer recognize my feet. My blood pressure is normal-it stays between 120/55 and 125/70, I have no excess protein in my urine, and I have no real abnormal signs that point to some strange pregnant malady. Mostly, I just have the biggest feet in the entire world. I only have one pair of shoes that fit me-and only because they are lace-up tennis shoes. I am down to one pair of sandals that I can cram on my feet in the morning, but if I remove them during the day it is next to impossible to get them back on. My toes look like pink-tipped (nail polish) little smokie sausages, just poised to be speared with a toothpick! Sometimes my ankles are so swollen they turn a grayish-blue color. Lets all collectively say, "UUUGGGHHH!!!" I have received lots of advice on how to get rid of the excess fluid, and the only enjoyable remedy is eating watermelon, supposedly a natural diuretic. Well watermelon may help with some swollen ankles, but I guess mine are too big for watermelon to handle alone. Too bad they can't make a little pill to sweep all that excess fluid out of my body every morning. Oh wait-they do make that pill! I just can't take it while pregnant. Poor, poor me. (Collective groan-after all, we are all in the same boat, right?)

I do have some good news to report this week. Everyone look to the sky. Look carefully, because somewhere you will see a pig flying-or maybe a donkey-or some little demon down below is freezing his tail off, because my company hired me on as a real, honest employee. I'm not just anybody now; I am an employee of a company! While I still don't like my job, I do, however, take comfort in having some semblance of security. I can honestly say that I feel like I might really have a job waiting for me when I return from maternity leave. Should I fault them for being six months late in following through? Yes, I should say so. But I just won't fault them to their face (sneaky, sneaky!).

Friday night I put in my energizer batteries (they come with the 40DD bra that I am now wearing) and began an excessively busy weekend. My batteries ran low on juice around 2 p.m. on Sunday (note to self: next time get Duracell) and I hit rock bottom, right before all of our family showed up for Father's Day. Up I went, draining the last of the battery juice, and finally collapsed in bed late Sunday night. My fatigue was apparent the next morning, however, as I began my day with two separate crying binges. The first came when I brought Steve breakfast in bed, and I caught him feeding it to the dog when I wasn't looking. He didn't mean anything by it-he just normally doesn't eat so early in the morning. So I cried. Then I got into the shower, and Steve came in to use the restroom and turned the lights off as he stumbled back out the door, still reeling from my crying jag over the breakfast. I started to cry again because, well, he forgot I was in the shower. Poor Steve . . .

Will he still love me after this nine-month ordeal?

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