The Sheer Magnitude of the Belly

I'm back in the saddle again. After a long hiatus from this blog (and many other things) I am returning to the keyboard. I'm going to blame the ever-expanding belly and the sweet baby growing inside of it that I'm currently hosting. After all, nesting is hard work, and quite time consuming. But it's "my delicate condition" that is inspiring this post today, and since I mainly use this blog to rant, buckle up.

When I think about newborn mammals, some of the more amazing come to mind. A newborn colt, taking it's first steps within minutes of birth. An infant giraffe, standing up to nurse his first meal from his tall mother. Amazing little creatures. And then there's the brand-new baby human - squishy, wrinkled and UTTERLY HELPLESS. Oh don't get me wrong. They are 100% precious, but stand up? They can't hold their head upright for months! As my husband aptly put it, "we are designed to rely entirely upon God from the very beginning."

So where's the source of the issue? This seemingly under-developed baby must be that way for a reason - all it's other mammalian counterparts arrive decidedly more mature and more prepared for the rigors of earth. I propose, for your reading enjoyment, this humble theory: the gestating human mother simply runs out of room, and the child must be ejected. 


I have a most personal reason for believing this. It started about 7 weeks out from my projected due date with baby #2, and even earlier with baby #1. The well-meaning, ill-timed, fateful comment that every pregnant woman dreads: "You must be due any day now."  Pause. Deep breath. Regroup. "No ma'am/sir, I have several weeks to go. Thank you for your concern." Read: "No you moron, I'm just whale-sized already. Despite my size, my child's undeveloped lungs and immune system are far from ready to face the cruel world. And I will continue to grow and grow and grow until I can't move, sleep or breath. Until I am doing everything in my power to induce the most painful thing I will likely ever go through. Because anything will be better than staying so mammoth at that point."

A concession must be made at this juncture. I understand fully that it is impossible for any stranger, friend, or even spouse to conceive of the gianticism that will overtake a woman in her 40th week of pregnancy. In other words, who'da thunk it? I don't blame you! When I am not pregnant, even by just a few months, I will forget entirely how large I was. At least I hope I will. Maybe the mind just isn't capable of remembering such bodily proportions. Either way, I don't blame you. But you must understand: even speaking of the blessed day when you will be rid of "the fat suit you can't take off" is a heartless tease. We want out - we want out bad. I know I do. Of course, in the naturally doting and matronly fashion that is fitting, I wouldn't dare rush the baby out before she's ready to handle the world without any health problems, but the INSTANT that full-term is reached (a good 3 weeks prior to the finish line) every mother I know is praying for early labor. To trade in all that pain and weight and swelling for a beautiful (allbeit restless and demanding) infant is one of the best deals there is. Don't remind me how far away that checked flag is!

This brings me right back home, to the point (you thought it was lost forever, didn't you?) I believe that babies embark on the life journey so dependent on the care of others because they must! God has squeezed as much gestational growth into the abdomen of a human as he can - and it just comes down to that favorite hide-and-seek phrase: "Ready or not, here I come!" In many ways, I am baffled by animals that give birth to litters - 9, 10, 11 puppies at once! And she was still walking a few hours before! Not to even BEGIN to touch on the subject of multiples (twins, triplets and beyond...). It's no wonder to me that more than one baby means early birth almost without exception. There's just no vacancy left at the inn.

You may say this rant was earned, and I wouldn't put up too much of a fight. After all, if you think the wrath of a woman scorned is bad, trying messing with a woman impregnanted. But despite every comment about how the baby has obviously dropped (I had a sonogram yesterday - no she hasn't) or how I'm "nothing but belly" (I know you're trying to say I'm skinny otherwise, but it's hard to hear anything but the word "belly") - I know that it comes from a place of excitement for me. That's so genuine - so welcome. So please disregard my rage, or (if I'm feeling a big more self-controlled) my eye-roll and giant sigh. You're awesome, and thank you for caring. Seriously. Thanks.