Greetings from Miss Pointy Belly, owner of the pointiest belly in the South. And nope, that's not just a figure of speech, I really was in the South when this photo was taken—in Charleston, to be exact, where I spoke on a panel at a conference for work, which was both nerve-wracking and thrilling, not least because the panel was 45 minutes long and I wasn't entirely sure whether it was even possible these days for me to sit still for 45 minutes without needing to get up and excuse myself to go to the ladies' room.
You know how you think it's just a cliche that pregnant women have to pee all the time? I would like to let you know that it's NOT. If Sean had a penny for every time I had to spend a penny that weekend—were I on a sitcom, the catchphrase that would have audiences clapping and guffawing every time I walked into the room, Fonzie-style, would be "I really have to pee"—well, then he'd be a very rich man indeed. As opposed to just a very perplexed and frustrated man perpetually on the lookout for gas station bathrooms. ("Again? Seriously? You literally just went.")
So here we are at 24 weeks—well, here we were at 24 weeks, because I'm just a wee bit behind on this now, probably because every time I sit down to write about it, I have to GET UP AND PEE—which, if you don't mind me doing a little bit of mind-blowing math for you, is a whopping six months. Six. Months. How did this happen? How is 24 weeks six months? How am I six months pregnant all of a sudden? I'm sorry for the abundance of italics in this line of questioning, but you have to understand that six months just kind of plays on an italicised loop in my brain all day at the moment—sort of like those scrolling marquees outside the movie theatre—because it's just so strangely real to me now. I mean, six months pregnant sounds pretty legit, right? That's, like, really for real pregnant, you know?
Weirdly, though, being six months pregnant has caused a sort of strange regression for me, in that some of my old food aversions have come back—salad, I think our love affair may be over for now! It's not you, it's me (okay, it's kind of you; could you maybe stop being so green and leafy please?)—along with some of my old cravings, like good old chocolate milk. I'm back to being super into anything cold and frosty that I can drink with a straw—Starbucks Frappuccinos are the gold standard, although I'm trying to limit myself to one a week and will also accept iced decaf coffee with extra ice, plus a little bit more ice and then a topping of ice, as a decent alternative—and I have become weirdly and intensely enamored with Special K, which, prior to pregnancy, I don't think I had eaten since the late 1990s. Basically, after a few blessed months of being able to eat pretty normally, my kindergartner diet from the first trimester has matured only everso slightly into a teenage girl's diet. Did this happen to anyone else? Did your weird aversions and cravings from the first trimester return a little later on, or is it just me?
I've also found myself getting a lot more irritated and annoyed recently, sort of like PMS on steroids, and feeling sort of weirdly, helplessly weepy, as in the time I tried to take a new route home after a hair appointment last week and found myself getting on not one but two wrong trains, the last of which ended up depositing me somewhere in the deepest reaches of the city, where I had to be rescued by Sean, who heroically—and rather selflessly—drove out to pick me up, probably because my voice was wavering so much on the phone that he didn't want to run the risk of me taking a third wrong train and ending up in LA. Seriously, though; who gets lost in San Francisco? It's only seven square miles! The fact that I'd gone so wrong just trying to get home just made me feel so helpless and angry and stupid, which is not a particularly rational way to feel, but hey, I guess that's six months pregnant for you. On the upside: delicious baby kicks almost every hour of the day. On the downside: the feeling that someone's taken away your brain and replaced it with cotton wool. The really cheap kind that falls apart super easily.