I’m twenty-five weeks pregnant which means at the best of times I feel like a sausage blimp; some sort of gas filled entity stuffed into too little skin.

Picture this zeppelin with a skirt and you have me. Photo Credit : theatlantic.com

And at the worst of times I’m a vomit fountain.

For the record, is the opposite of this kind of fountain which can bring scads of people sugar coated joy. Photo Credit: commons.wikimedia.org

And at all times I am tired.

Today the role of Unwashed shall be played by this character. Photo Credit : affordablehousinginstitute.org

However despite this, I agreed to go out to dinner with Tex and his friend. The restaurant was only a third of a kilometer from the apartment so Tex decided that we should walk. Tragically, a half an hour beforehand, my body decided that I should sleep. This was how Tex and I found ourselves shuffling along while I kept my eyes closed.

One hundred meters from the apartment I stopped and refused to go any further. “I want a piggyback ride!” I demanded. Sensing that he was a second away from dragging his pregnant wife’s supine body down the sidewalk towards the restaurant, Tex agreed.

It would have looked exactly like this if Joy was wearing a cowboy hat and wrangler jeans; Tex is just as chipper and I was just as motionless. Photo Credit : infinity.wordpress.com

I’m not sure whether it was my bulky jacket that made me forget about the giant basketball that is now my midsection or whether I was that drunk from exhaustion, regardless Tex knelt down and I jumped as high as my heavy body and intense acid reflux would allow which wasn’t high at all. I made it halfway onto his back before my belly caused me to slide off and I remembered that I was five and a half months pregnant.

It was at then that I started laughing the maniacal hysterical laughter of the exhausted and was so loud that passersby turned to take in the commotion. Happily, I ended up giggling myself the rest of the way to the restaurant.