I like to think that I’m a fairly confident person. I have no problem speaking in public, meeting strangers, and I’m mostly comfy enough in my own skin to wear what I like and flaunt what I’ve got. At the same time, I’m still a woman, which means that I have my own obsessions about how I look and plenty of days when I think I’m too fat to wear anything other than certain dresses or whatever that I’m comfy in no matter what (every person needs those outfits). Being pregnant, and more specifically pregnant with a girl, has made me need to reevaluate a lot of my own body issues, and get over myself.
I have always had a round figure. I’m fortunate enough to have round “squishy bits” as my husband likes to call them (I hate when he calls them that, of course), so I tend towards an hourglass figure… although that cinched in around the middle bit isn’t generally as small as I’d like. In particular, I hate my stomach and I always have. Even at my thinnest/fittest/healthiest, I have found my stomach to be my least favorite body part. Now, though, it’s filled with a tiny human, and that makes it better, but I plan to do even better with my body image stuff.
Pregnancy is weird. Or maybe I’m weird, or maybe it’s a combination of both. I haven’t had a particularly difficult pregnancy, knock on wood. I haven’t had a lot of the symptoms that would have made this experience much more unpleasant – no morning sickness, minimal breakouts and while I have some moody days, they aren’t as overwhelming and omnipresent as they could be. But I definitely go in waves about the whole pregnancy thing.
Don’t get me wrong, there are moments that are incredible. I love going for the scans and see what she’s up to in there. I love feeling her little kicks, even when they’re at 3am and I wish she’d just go to sleep. It’s incredible to think that she is growing in there, a part of me and then one day will be separate from me. I am growing a human, even if I sometimes joke that she’s just a parasite. It feels incredibly alien, but also amazing sometimes. But today I feel like I’m bad at it all.
This weekend had the typical mix of busy and chilled that I like. Saturday was spent with a few people over while we made a potjie and watched the rugby. It was busy, even if it was at home, but nicely social and fun. Sunday was spent recovering for the most part, with my feet up binging on series on Netflix and playing a few games. It was divine. Dean spent most of his time watching YouTube videos in the study, both of us occasionally checking in on the other to say hi and give kisses before returning to our vegging out in front of our screens of choice. I realized this time, though, that the luxury of sleeping in only to laze in front of the TV and watch series is rather short lived.
So, I made the silly decision to count weekends. I decided not to count this coming weekend, because it’s rAge and will be totally hectic. I’ve also left off Christmas and New Years because they fall over weekends this year, which means I won’t be spending either of those with my feet up, watching Netflix… Okay, maybe New Years, but we’ll see. That means I’m looking at 13 weekends. Take away another couple because I want to take Dean away for a BabyMoon and I’m sure we will have a few busy weekends filled with social engagements and baby showers and holiday shopping and who knows what else. I probably only have 10 more opportunities for lazy series viewing or gaming marathons for the next, oh, how many years?
It’s weird that while growing a future human who will be related to me, I’m thinking more about friends than family. It’s not to say that family isn’t important – obviously having an awesome family can make a huge difference and I want to be the ultimate support structure for my little Harley. However, my thoughts have been going towards a lot of my friends lately, and how important they are in my life, how they keep me sane and make me laugh and I wouldn’t be the same without them.
When Dean and I were getting married, a lot of people were throwing around that cliche about marrying your best friend, and I would laugh at them. I adore my husband. There is no one else on this planet who I could wake up next to every day and never get sick of, who makes me laugh every day. Dean does his best to make me happy each and every day, which is something that I do for him as well. We are beyond compatible and I couldn’t ask for a better partner, but he isn’t my best friend. There is something different in a friend, which includes the ability to moan about that same awesome partner, which is absolutely invaluable.
I recently reviewed Skylanders: Superchargers for my day job over on Lazygamer.net. I was expecting to be bored by it seeing as it’s developed to be a kid’s game, but I actually really enjoyed it. Plus, it made me even more excited to get to play it with Harley one day – there is fun co-op so that we can play together, and I think any kid will get a kick out of the humor and adventurous experience. Also, the characters show a lot of empathy, even for the bad guys, and it’s nice to see some cool ideas of friendship and cooperation reenforced in a game. I already explained some of the reasons why I want Harley to be a gamer when she grows up; from mapping and problem-solving skills to decision-making alacrity and an interest in mythology, gaming helps with all of that. But there’s always the question of how old she needs to be to start video gaming, and if all that screen time is good for her.
I started looking into this, especially after discussions this weekend where I was seen as a bit odd for being so intent on having specific kinds of stimuli for Harley from birth. I know what I want, and I want her to learn about all kinds of things from before she can walk or talk. There is so much that happens in a kid’s brain so very early on, and reading to her and playing games together will be a big part of that. But mostly these were based on experiences without a screen because so many people rant and rave that screen time is dangerous for every human. Well, not so much.