Well, I'm officially in my third trimester. I'm so legit. I haven't posted my inner quiverings and flutterings of pregnancy lately, which I'm sure you're just devastated about, so I will quickly remedy this situation. (In case you are really into quiverings, here are some of my reflections on the first trimester and here are some fun facts about the pregnancy digestive tract. Yay!)
First of all Overheating. Up until just a week ago, I was innocently telling Mike, "You know, they say you're supposed to be hot when pregnant, but I just feel normal!" I should have kept my mouth shut. Suddenly, I find myself sweating at every turn. In group settings, I find myself uncomfortably lifting my hair off of my neck and fanning and wiping the perspiration off my upper lip. I look around and notice no one else is doing this. I ask, "Is anyone else hot in here?" and people tepidly respond, "It might be a little warm." But what I'm talking about isn't a little warm. I feel like I'm in a sauna in my own body.
Last night, Mike and I were driving. It was 65 degrees outside - pleasantly cool - and we had the air conditioning at 71 inside the car - which would usually give me the chills. But I was still cooking in my own juices. Although I could objectively feel that cool air was touching my skin, I was my own radiator. It's tank tops and pony tails from here on out.
Teen Wolf. Do you know that you get thick, luxurious hair during pregnancy? Did you know that this thick, luxurious hair grows not on your head but in the sideburn region and on your belly? Well, now you do. I've always had modest peach fuzz on my face. Now I have mutton chops. I don't generally stare at the side of my face, but I did yesterday, and Hello Teen Wolf! Why "teen" per se? Because it would be so much more depressing to be called "Middle-Aged Wolf."
And my bikini modeling days are over. Man, they were fun and lucrative while they lasted. But now how am I supposed to show off my cute preggo belly if it's covered in hair? For the sake of saving my dignity, I will tell you that I don't actually have long, luxurious hair on my stomach. But I have some. And that's enough. Gross.
Somebody Get Me a Respirator. I. Can't. Breathe. I don't usually resort to writing gimmicks such as placing a period after every word. (No offense to those who do; I'm just a pretentious English major.) So let my lowered standards of communication be a sign to you of how much I can't breathe. My organs are all up in my business. Allow me to demonstrate: I had an appendectomy. Usually the appendix is down by your right hip bone.
We interrupt this broadcast to bring you an important announcement: Never, I repeat, never, should you google images of "Where is the appendix?" You will see things you never wanted to see and need intensive mind-washing therapy.
We now return to our regularly scheduled broadcast. Ahem, so yes, the appendix is usually quite low, down by your hipbone. I had the privilege of learning exactly where my appendix was last week. It was several inches above my belly button. Usually scars for appendectomy's can be hidden in the bikini line, but not mine. My scars will be several inches above my belly button. I guess my bikini modeling career really is over. That just shows you how squished my poor little lungs and diaphragm are. They've got appendixes and kidneys and stomachs all up ons. (I'm not sure where exactly the stomach and kidneys are during pregnancy, but there's no way I'm googling to find out.)
Lastly, I've disturbed you enough with talk of hair and bikinis, so I'll leave you with one last image, me at 28 weeks, the beginning of the third trimester. I was even so considerate as to wear the same outfit I did for my 18 week picture, for your comparing pleasure. (Pay no attention to the Teen Wolf Sideburns.)