In the original story of the three pigs you have the first 2 , who are defeated by the wolf and it's up to the last pig to save the day. This is the story of the one who saves the day--before the day gets here. You see, the third little brick layer, isn't actually a pig at all. It's a pregnant woman. Today, it's me. That's right. I am now a smarter than life, tougher than normal, FATTER THAN THE WORLD, saving-the-day heifer. Wait, heifer implies a cow, let's make that a SWINE-because a pig is just not quite as mature as a swine and well I am after all, pregnant. jeez. But I haven't always been like this. And Thank God I won't be like this forever. Yesterday morning I woke up in the pig body, and decided I needed to get my story to the world so that when they see me no one will think that I am just some kind of fat and lazy person, but actually the hero in a famous folktale.
Once upon a time, starting the day after Christmas, I gave up eating LOTS of food to eating barely any, starting drinking tons of water, exercising at least 4 times a week, and completely gave up sugar or anything that closely resembled it. I did this for two weeks straight while my jeans got tighter, my face more puffy, and my mood swings would have made even Glenn Miller proud.
Then came the 'Am I pregnant' question for about 3 days. I analyzed, scrutinized, and rationalized that the answer was an absolute NO. I just didn't want to talk myself into it and go through another round of tears and disappointment that is certain to follow a failed pregnancy test. Then came Monday night when a teenie little voice deep in my gut yelled, Wake UP--you're pregnant! So at around 5:30 AM I went downstairs to endure another brutal, gut-wrenching test-only this time I passed. I sat and stared for a least 5 minutes at the result--NOT--believing it. Finally I ran to wake up hubby-who jumped off the couch and hugged me. We were so excited. For like a week everything was "oh, hooray, my prayers were answered, and another little one is on the way! Yippee!"
Unfortunately the honeymoon is over and I have been violently shoved into the "fat suit" or "swine gear" to fulfill my duties as the 3rd pig in the famous story. You see, it appears that since the moment of conception my body began holding on to every drop of water that I gave it, which is why my pants are tight. It's not the baby, but water retention to give me the cheeky rolls and the tummy waves that all pigs display. Yeah, the baby is the size of only a mere peanut without the shell, yet is nestled snug in a home as big as Xanadu itself, built in the immense private island that is my belly. Even Charles Foster Kane would be proud of the splendor.
Barely 7 weeks into this baby making journey and I have already lost myself. I am now simply the third little pig, preparing my home of bricks to keep out all of the wind-bag wolves who might try to destroy my family.
To reassure the other pigs that they are safe and sound and that I have accepted my new life role, we celebrated yesterday with pancakes. (I actually saw this idea on another blog and can't remember who's it was--so if you read this please tell me and I will give all of the credit due.)
In the spirit of the story I will tell you that my feeble little pig#1 ate the equivalent of how much a piece of straw would weigh; pig #2 followed suit and ate enough to maybe cover the weight of a stick but scraped the Mn M's off his plate like they were rabbit droppings or something, and I, pig #3 ate a solid plate of pancakes, candy and all, so that they sat like a lump of bricks in Xanadu, until an hour later when I was hungry again--and finished everyone else's pancakes. Nice. In addition to changes in appearance there are also the added bonus of total fatique, yet complete insomnia, and really weird food cravings (no aversions except for my beloved coffee--sniff,) like chicken and cheese. GROSS--but it's all I want. Then there is the fermenting process that is happening in my digestive system which not only blows me up to the size of a 5 ton tank by the end of the night, but also causes tremendous heartburn, and slows down every process of elimination. YUCK--I feel toxic. Seriously, my pants totally fit in the morning, but by mid-afternoon I look 9 months preggers from all the bloat in Xanadu. (oh, and with all of this fermenting going on --yes gas is being released. I'm digusting.)
Yes, I prayed for this. and yeeeeees, I will forget all of this, because as soon as the baby is done staying in the private hotel, he/she will grace our presence turning our home into the Xanadu we built-only 33 more weeks to go. Yippee. whatever. It's Possible --Pig. (what movie?) You know what they say though--only the STRONG shall survive, which is why I believe God made sure women are the ones to give birth;)
EPILOGUE At the beginning of my story I declared this: "I am now a smarter than life, tougher than normal, FATTER THAN THE WORLD, saving-the-day swine." It takes the entire 40 weeks for all three of those things to be true. Unfortunately, at this stage of my new role, I'm just getting to the FATTER part because my brain is total mush (you might see evidence of this by my proofreading) and I cry at the drop of a hat-and picks fights with my hubby as an added bonus. (we are not speaking as I type!) whoohoo for pregnancy I'll keep everyone posted when this changes--and of course, when the big bad wolf comes to huff and puff--in other words, when I give birth--I'll be sure to blog about it.