Category: Pregnancy

My office is an evil, evil place.

You see, each night about 25 college students come to work here in the basement. And what’s the only way to get college students to show up? Well, bribe them, of course. And since promoting keg-stands to student employees is somewhat of a no-no, we use pop and candy.

So this means that I am forced to work within one flight of stairs of unlimited pop and candy. I’m talking everything from Coca-Cola to Pepsi Jazz, Reese’s Cups to Laffy Taffy. It’s just not right. At times, the temptation overwhelms me.

This afternoon was one such occasion.

It was 4:50, almost time to leave, and I was SO hungry. I couldn’t help it; I ran downstairs and stuffed three Starbursts into my mouth. My sugar craving fulfilled, I headed back up the steps.

That’s when I came face-to-face with a student worker. She looked so cute in her pea coat and headband, and there I was hauling my pregnant arse upstairs, teeth glued together with sugar. I smiled at her as politely as I could, and she asked me if our graduate assistant was in her office. My mouth was still stuffed with the three said Starbursts and the best I could do was mumble “I habn’t seen ‘er toway” and continue waddling back to my cubicle.

The most embarrassing part? She surely knew what I was up to, being well aware of the abundant supply of calories to be found in the basement. I can practically hear her telling her anorexic sorority sisters the story of the huge pregnant lady with a mouth full of candy.

And then, not having found the person she was looking for, she came to my cubicle. “Um, excuse me, ma’am?”

Ma’am? Kick me while I’m down.

Ok I know this pregnancy stuff, well, doesn’t follow the regular laws of mathematics… whoever invented it must have been a man trying to trick the rest of womankind into believing that it only lasts nine months. But why do I get a deer-in-my-headlights (haha, that one was for you, Aunt Diane) look whenever someone asks me how far along I am??

And it’s NOT just that sometimes I can’t remember how many weeks (although I will admit that I have to check WebMD every once in a while to verify)… it’s that I’m past the point of the weekly count making any sense to anyone, and people want their answer in the largest common denominator, months.

I am currently 28 weeks pregnant. Let me break out the calculator here… 28 divided by 4 is 7. So I’m 7 months pregnant, right?

BUT, 9-7=2… which would indicate that I only have 2 months left to go. Unfortunately, this is not the case! Two months from now is March 21, which is still a solid three weeks before my due date!!

So let’s work backwards. If pregnancy lasts 40 weeks, I am still looking at another 12 weeks of gestating. Twelve weeks equals 3 months, right? So am I only 6 months? That would be SO DEPRESSING. And I can’t be six months, because I’m 28 weeks!!

So what do you think? Am I six months pregnant? Seven months? Because I have NO IDEA.

P.S. If anyone comments with an answer that’s not at least six months, I cannot be held liable for my actions!

Is huger a word? I don’t really think so. Regardless, I really do not want to get huger than I am already.

It’s bad, ladies and gentlemen, and I cannot imagine how much worse it’s going to get. Jenny so kindly told me at Christmas that she doesn’t want to hear it until my belly hits my legs when I walk up the stairs.

I fear this day is not far off.

I am not about to divulge the exact amount of weight I’ve gained, but let’s just say that it’s a lot. And I still have 14 weeks more to go! I asked a friend how I could turn this train around, and she replied, “You’re not driving that train, you’re just riding it.” And something tells me that there’s no way to get off!

Ugh.

Gee, my posts this week have really been uplifting… plane crashes and gianormosity (do you like that one?). Hopefully I will have a better outlook (provided the plane lands and I have any outlook at all, haha) after a weekend in Florida!