D-Day is a mere 7.5 weeks away and since a healthy baby can easily arrive two weeks early, that means D-day could be a simple 5.5 weeks from now. In terms of being ready, I’m not. In terms of being done being pregnant, I am. I remember the same feelings last year awaiting the arrival of my daughter, so at least I’m consistent.
This also means that I have less than two months to milk being pregnant and I’m trying to take advantage as best I can. While riding on the Metro in Europe or the subway in Manhattan, I have mastered the art of subtly unzipping my jacket and protruding my belly out while making eye contact with anyone seated. For the most part, I’m able to garner a seat in a matter of minutes. Crowded subways are another story.
When I tried to board the plane early with “people needing extra assistance” the ticket check woman commented that being pregnant was not a disability. I looked at her and said, “sometimes it feels like one,” as she scanned my boarding pass and let me board.
Another perk to traveling, is that I am not afraid to ask a flight attendant or airport screener to help me lift or lower my bag. As my sister advised, never say no to help.
If a bathroom line is more than a few persons deep, I disguise any shyness and march to the front of the queue and ask for the next person’s sympathy. I am creating another life for a few more weeks and might as well take advantage of the benefits considering I have to cope with the side effects like raging hormones.
My sister (who is nine weeks pregnant) and I are emotionally volatile and ready to have custom T-shirts made. “Warning: Pregnant. Talk to at your own risk.” And while we cannot control so many factors of our changing bodies (leaky sneezes anyone?) we can at least use our (dis)position to our advantage.