My elusive pregnancy superhero alter ego “Can-Do Girl” reappeared yesterday. She’s also known as “TCB Girl,” in a nod to The King and his lightning bolt logo, and Husband’s sharing of said King’s birthday.
But I digress, perhaps as one does when chemicals flood one’s brain.
I can only assume that the hormone cocktail of pregnancy has shifted yet again recently. Yesterday’s to-do(ne) list was chock full of phone calls, to and from the guy who hit my car the day before, both of our insurance agencies; signing up for more prenatal classes — babycare and breastfeeding, and infant CPR; calling credit card companies to clarify and pay bills; organizing workpeople to come to our house to take care of last-minute furniture and gardening projects; and calling various semi-local hot springs retreats and bed-and-breakfasts, in search of a last hurrah.
A Last Hurrah.
First of all: Lest you worry about me, the places I called offer “warm” pools safe for big mamas like me.
Second: It suddenly hit me this week. In six weeks, give or take, my entire life is going to change. REALLY CHANGE. One of my favorite pastimes has always been going to rustic retreats, especially when mineral springs are involved, especially with my husband.
Time is almost up.
Not that we’ll never travel again, but…
Well…
Will we?
And when. And how?
It will be different. Surely.
Next weekend is the Baby Shower, Rev 2., the local friends edition. And then we’re into November. The home stretch. The big final belly stretch. I won’t be traveling anywhere. Except to the Labor and Delivery Room.
Did I mention how much I love my big belly? Hauling it around certainly isn’t that comfortable at this point. But do I ever cut a dashing figure! Big, firm, fig-like. I will miss this pregnant body too, when this whole phase of my superhero adventure is over.