When I first peed on a pregnancy stick September of last year, I barely had to wait 10 seconds before seeing two lines appear. I was so pregnant, the stick said, but I wanted to be super sure, so I took two more tests and got two more positives. That was around seven months ago; I was only six to seven weeks along then. Nowadays, my belly’s so full of child (and fried chicken and halo-halo) that I can hardly see my feet when I look down. We’re in the home stretch—33 weeks and 3 days, to be exact—and he’s feeling less fetus-like and more human to me every day. (Kicks, jabs, hiccups, and all.) So this is how it feels to be pregnant, I still find myself thinking sometimes. And I absolutely love it.
I love it even though I walk like a penguin now, and look like a butete (my dad’s words). I love it even though I can no longer fit into my short shorts and jeans and mini dresses, and have been relegated to the maternity section after swearing I’d never shop there. (In fairness to SM, they have non-maternity-looking maternity dresses.)
I love it even though I had to give up sashimi and bleu cheese and all sorts of good things like Lucky Me Pancit Canton, tocino, and corned beef. (My tummy started rejecting too-processed food items anyway.) I said goodbye to my daily cup of coffee, too, and just switched to hot milk.
I love it even though being pregnant has made me some sort of weakling who can’t even pick something up from the floor (TRUE STORY) or get up from the bed without first rolling to one side and pushing myself up slowly like a lola. These days, scouring the malls—which is part of my magazine job—has become a challenge, too, and I’m already huffing by the third store. But then again, I love how most salespeople scramble to assist the pregnant woman “shopping” by herself, sometimes with matching touch to the belly or preggy small talk.
And yes, I do not mind having strangers touch my belly at all or being asked for the nth time when I’m due. I particularly love being told I look like I’m having a girl, because in Pinoy-speak, that’s a huge compliment. In this country, you never tell a pregnant woman that she looks like she’s having a boy, because we all know what you mean by that. There were like three or four people who did that to me, and trust me, it makes you question your looks!
For the record, though, I am having a baby boy, and couldn’t be more thrilled (and scared, haha!) about it.
I love that he kicks and punches like a football star-slash-wrestler; I love that he squirms excitedly whenever I eat or drink something sweet; I love that he hiccups at least twice a day at this point—a good sign according to my OB. I love that he responds differently to my and my husband’s voice/touch, and how he’s turned his daddy into an excited ball of mush. (He’s shopped for more baby stuff than I have!)
And even though this little one makes me go to the bathroom every 30 minutes or so, wakes me up with crazy leg cramps at night, or makes me want to nap all day, I wouldn’t trade this experience for the world.
Seven weeks to go, my love. I shall see you soon. ❤