22 weeks, Cha Cha CHA! Two more weeks to the big V (viability) meaning the Chicken could survive outside of his or her roaster – but it would not be a very good life so we’d prefer if baby stayed put!
According to varying “your baby is the size of your lunch” web sites, the Chicken is about a pound right now. Last night I thawed out two pork chops for the Professor. Living with a carnivore has taught me many things including that thou shalt not just pop expensive frozen meat into the microwave and cook the hell out of it on high heat until it is thawed and hot. Why? Because it will become rubbery and cause a lot of grumbling from the other side of the table as your husband gnaws all caveman-style on a hunk of grody meat.
No no no. Instead you weigh said frozen meat first, then put it in the microwave on “defrost” and specify the poundage. This ensures that the meat is gently thawed and then can be heated and not turn into an old shoe. Who knew? So last night I dug two chops out of the basement deep freeze (these were left over from our crown roast and braised tempeh Thanksgiving feast), removed them from their freezer packaging and weighed them – 16 oz.
“Hey babe! Your pile of meat weighs as much as the Chicken does right now!” I chirped.
“Don’t tell me that! I don’t want to eat my baby’s weight in chop!…. Mmmmm, chops….”
For the record, he ate every bit of the chops and then sat there rubbing his belly, relishing in his meat cooking abilities.
Anyways, the point of this is that the Chicken is about a pound and my husband ate about a pound of pork. Awesome, right?
In other news – I’m feeling… pregnant. This week has been hard. It’s the first week in a long while I don’t have my boundless energy. I’ve also had some bouts of nausea and vertigo which I can only assume is due to the one pound Chicken flipping and flopping in my belly. My brain seems to have checked out, too, and I’m at least three weeks behind at work which is NOT GOOD. After I finish this I need to open a can of whoop ass on this annual report and write the hell out of some shit. (That is my equivalent of a pep talk).
My boobs are not nearly as big as I had hoped “pregnant boobs” would be, but I hear they still have time. I’m cheering them on so they can touch in the middle. As a life long flat chester I have always dreamed of cleavage.
My nipples, on the other hand, seem to be having a growth spurt and are getting bigger, which is disturbing when your boobs are still relatively small. The nips also feel like they are on FIRE a lot of time and I spend my work days hiding behind a closed-door and popping my bra down so they can chill in the open air. They like open air. They hate bras and clothing. I also think I had a little boob leakage last Friday, which was hella weird. Just a bit of wetness in my bra but it gives me a little hope that maybe these itty bitties will do a good job of feeding my big baby.
The Chicken Lump is definitely growing. I think it is finally about to balance out the butt that pregnancy has bestowed upon me. Seriously, I cannot get over this butt growth phenomenon . I am not saying that my ass is large, by any stretch, but it is about three pants sizes larger than it was 22 weeks ago – which is SHOCKING I tell you. My itty bitty titties and previously tiny bum used to be best buds but are now jealous of each other: the butt missing its days of petite perkiness and the boobs realizing that the butt cheeks touch and bounce so nicely… why can’t they? I’ve been wearing a LOT of big scarves to try to add balance to the off kilter proportions. Something tells me I’m not fooling anyone but myself 🙂
I’ve also been hungry life the wolf. I’ll eat dinner at about 5 or 6 and come 8 be hungry again. I’ve been having home-made granola bars before bed lately. While not the healthiest option, granola bars are a hell of a lot better for the Chicken’s development then, say, that huge bag of corn chips that I want to shove my head in.
What else is noteworthy at 22 weeks? Oh! Cats!
So the Professor and I both expected our cats to become incredibly cuddly and lovey with Pregnant Belle. We were anticipating 9 months of happy cats cozying up to my growing belly and purring so the Chicken could get acquainted with them while still in the womb. No such luck. Instead our cats seem to suspect an end to their way of life and have decided to wage war. They howl, yowl, pester and poke us. They pounce each other constantly and then make angry noises when feelings are hurt. They want played with all the time, hugged all the time, fed all the time and just to be the center of our universe all the time.
“Fuss over us 24-7!!!! Is that really so much to ask?” the cats wail.
“Well, someone has to work to pay for the 120 pounds of cat litter we just ordered,” I respond.
“Oh…” and they tuck their tail and retreat for about 2 minutes before they start demanding attention again.
And finally, no Belle pregnancy post would be complete without a report on my current pooping status. The State of Belle’s Colon is: Backed Up. Tragic. But I have hope there is an end in sight after adding a calcium/magnesium supplement back to my diet. I had been taking them daily and ran out. The grocery store was out of the Cal-Mag so I just got calcium not realizing how much the Mag might be helping my ass. Coincidence? I hope not!
And now, dear readers, I’m going to tackle the daunting stack of work-writing that has been staring at me for weeks. I wish you all a happy weekend with agreeable husbands (or wives), quiet pets, satisfying morning constitutionals and minimal, if any, butt expansion!