I have been desperate for Dean to feel Harley’s kicks. I can feel her moving, growing and generally doing her thing inside me and it’s so magical every time… except when she’s throwing her 3am dance parties. It makes the whole thing feel that much more real (and sometimes alien) and I want to share it with Dean. With her kicks getting stronger and more predictable, I tried to get his hand in the right spot at the right time to feel her movements. This weekend, I thought I had managed, but I think the movements were a bit too far under the surface as Dean said he couldn’t feel anything but gurgling that could have just been my stomach rumbling (it wasn’t).
That tiny disappointment, combined with a series of work disappointments was making me feel a bit down going in to the rAge weekend. For those who don’t know, rAge is a massive gaming expo that takes place each year in Joburg where tons of gaming media, distributors, community and fans gather in the ridiculously hot and sweaty Dome and get to play games, buy merch and generally have a rad time. I was feeling a bit down about it, mostly because there were a few people I had considered friends who had turned out to be lying to me. I was feeling like maybe I was wrong all along, and like the possible stomach gurgling, maybe my connections with people weren’t magical but were simply imagined. Thankfully, I was proved wrong.
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.