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