My Pregnancy Survival Kit

My third trimester has been marked by my ever-growing shape, and sciatica (predictable and boring). I am also greeted nightly by those crazy pregnancy dreams I was warned about. I know better than to tell you about them, because like Dennis from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia said, "I hate listening to people's dreams. It is like flipping through a stack of photographs. If I'm not in any of them and nobody is having sex, I just don't care." However, since Steve made the observation that my blog is 10% baby-related and 90% my random thoughts, I feel the need to toss a little pregnancy content into this crock pot.

Pregnancy is something no woman should have to go through alone. A little support (ok, a LOT of support) is much appreciated. Also, preganant women love hearing that they look "great", even if they know you're completely lying. It still makes us feel better. File that nugget of wisdom away for future use.

My Show: Chelsea Lately
 

She may not be a fan of redheads, but I ain't mad at her. I think she's hilarious. I've read all three of her books, and while plagued with pregnancy-related insomnia, the fact that her show airs three times between the hours of 10pm and 2am is very comforting. She makes not sleeping easier.
My Dog: George

Food cravings, mood swings, and weight gain. I'm not referring to my pregnancy symptoms, I'm talking about the changes I've observed in George. He's gone from Slim Jim to Danny DeVito, gaining a higher percentage of body weight than I have. He knocks his sisters out of the way and eats their food. I don't even eat off Steve's plate. He wears a bigger harness than Laney, and has fat rolls spilling over it. I told him that at the end of all this, I'm the only one poppin' out a 9-pound baby*, and that he needs pull himself together. That being said, I'm glad I'm not the one waddling around. I am also flattered that George appreciates my new shape. He finds my roundness cozy and sprawls across me like I'm his own personal chaise lounge. Or beanbag chair.

*pure speculation

My Anthem: "Big Girl (You Are Beautiful)" by Mika

Diet Coke and a pizza, please

Diet Coke, I'm on my knees, screaming

Big girl, you are beautiful!

If I have to be perpetually plump, at least I have song I can dance to that celebrates my curves.


My Mascot: Kool Aid Man

We have a lot in common these days, Kool Aid Man and me. We're both round, both red, and both retaining fluid. Only Kool Aid Man is more photogenic than I am.

My Secret Weapon: Maternity Spanx

Dear Spanx,

Thank you for supporting my bump and keeping the wobbly bits in place. I don't know how I ever lived without you.

Cordially,

Samantha
My Triumph: Passing my Glucose Tolerance Test

Only 2-7% of pregnant women develop gestational diabetes, but I just knew I was going to be one of them. You may be thinking, but I ask you: why wouldn't it happen to me? Think about it: only 7-10% of the world is left-handed, and only 1-2% of the world is redheaded, so by my estimation that means that left-handed redheads comprise only about .2% of the world population, tops. I am a left-handed redhead. Why is it so outside the realm of possibility that I would also have gestational diabetes? This message is brought to you by The Samantha School of Logical Thinking.

My Restaurant: Water's Edge Cafe

The crown jewel of Little Elm, Texas (says me) is part cajun cafe, part southern cooking, and is exactly like popping in for dinner at the home of your favorite aunt and uncle. Steve and I stroll in and ask "Whatch y'all cookin' tonight?" I basically don't care what they serve me, because it's all delicious, all made with love, and the fact that I didn't have to cook it or clean it up is an added bonus. Did I mention they make the best breakfast ever? Steve took me there Sunday and it was de-lish.
My Sidekick: Amy

In one of my favorite comedies, Knocked Up, Paul Rudd's character describes marriage as being "like that show Everybody Loves Raymond, but it’s not funny. All the problems are the same, but you know, instead of all the funny, pithy dialogue, everybody is just really pissed off and tense. Marriage is like an unfunny version of Everybody Loves Raymond, but it doesn't just last 22 minutes...it lasts forever." Well, pregnancy is like an unfunny version of Knocked Up, but without the glamorous broadcasting job, hilarious home pregnancy test sequence, or psychadelic mushrooms. And it doesn't just last 128 minutes...it lasts forty weeks. That's why I am super grateful for a friend like Amy. We chat about all-things pregnancy and baby; from major decisions, to mundane experiences, to calming neuroses and unfounded fears...infused with laughter. She helps make this little journey more fun.

My Advisor: Angie

Part tour guide, part life raft, part voice of reason, I firmly believe that Angie should either come in a pocket-size version or be available as a downloadable phone app, because she is enormously bright and helpful. She's always generous with her time and happy to share her wisdom. Plus she's a helluva lotta fun.

My Rock: Steve

This fella has taken care of me while recovering from surgery, helped prepare our home for baby, and he has even [gasp] read skimmed over the baby books! Without my even asking him to! The journey to becoming a father doesn't really come with a map, and Steve has totally risen to the occassion. He rubs my tired, swollen feet, tells me I'm pretty when I feel like a walrus, and pitches in with the mutts. This baby of ours sure is lucky. Ok, I have to stop before these pregnancy hormones reduce me to a puddle of tears. I can't have Steve come home (again) to find me sobbing,"I...just...love...you...so...much!"