Day 6 Roundup: I Am a Beached Whale

four absurdities

Hello Readers,

Welcome to another experiment. I’m not going to go ahead and say, look out for a Day 6 Roundup every Friday, gang! I’m giving birth in less than two months. At some point in the New Year, I do hope to add more regular content for you devotees. Day 6 Roundups will take many shapes and forms and, hopefully, be a way for readers to get more of a portrait of the artist. Your support has closed a gap in my life, and I’m very grateful. We’ll see how the Sheas cope with the new baby and whether I can keep some momentum going after a few weeks of rest. I’m finding the due date deadline very motivating. As much as I want to give birth already, I’m anticipating the difficulty of not being able to write for a while afterward. For now, enjoy this jaunty expose covering some absurdities of reproducing.

Love,

Charlotte

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staging a picture to show you guys my sexy bike and whalish belly

It’s been a long time since pregnancy was considered a disability, but I’m here to argue my case that it’s the truth. When rolling over in bed requires a partial bridging of the hips, and a slow and steady dismount, there’s no pretending I’m at full capacity. The motion always recalls the image of a beached whale. The poor creatures, of course, only end up in the sand because they’re sick. Just laying on my side causes shooting pain deep into my hip joint, and so I roll, over and back, again and again. Preggos are perfectly capable of being productive even in their most laughably large and hysterical months. But having a tiny human permanently bound to my middle slows me down, drives me crazy, and teaches me that life is really a fragile thing.

And so, mostly for my entertainment as I enter the last and most uncomfortable months of what will likely be my last pregnancy, here is a reminiscing about some crazy shit I’ve done in the years of disability. Here, I disgrace myself.

1.     The Cabbage Incident

Never having experienced severe swelling that wasn’t due to a broken bone, I was entirely freaked out and disgusted to see my feet and hands swell for the first time They seemed twice their size. My shoes didn’t fit. My wedding ring wouldn’t slide over my second knuckle. I scoured the internet for some old wives’ tale remedies and learned the supposed cure of topical cabbage. I wrapped my feet in green leaves and elevated them for thirty minutes. It made no difference. No one ever knew about this until now, except my little sister who I chose as confidante to this spectacle. So, you’re welcome.

2.     Grad School Rage

My second pregnancy took place during my second year of grad school. The due date was January 22nd and I clung to the idea that, because this was my second, I would give birth blissfully early. This plan also lined up with school. I could pop the baby out during winter break and not miss a week of class. Of course, my sweet Zoe came five days late. I was so angry about the waiting I nearly blamed the midwives for not using drugs to just induce me already. For the record, the next one came five days late too, and so, I expect, will this one.

3.     Bike Habits

In my third pregnancy, I bought myself a new bike that I could ride as my belly grew. It’s a rad mixte Motobecane. French and sexy. I rode five miles on my due date, three centimeters dilated. The pressure of my cervix on the seat was only uncomfortable until my bottom went numb.

4.     The Cleanse

Halfway through my first pregnancy, I became severely constipated. At the time I worked a blogger job writing mindless SEO content. I could rattle off the 400-word articles in thirty minutes. Everyone thought I was so productive, but really, I rewatched the entirety of Friends while I worked. I felt no guilt when I told my boss I had to stay at home because I hadn’t pooped in four days. I walked myself to the pharmacy and, with some embarrassment, purchased an enema kit. On my back on the bathroom floor, I shot that saline solution right up my ass and sat on the toilet until my legs were numb.