Alone in a hotel

Well, I guess I'm not ever really alone anymore, am I? I would still call what I'm feeling more like squiggles than anything else. And I guess I probably feel them each day, but still nothing that is unmistakable shouting, "I am here and I am for real! We are two!"

I have been trying to work toward some writing goals to reach before July, and in the midst of February (never my favorite month) and on the rebound from two weeks of being snowbound, I almost thought it was silly to come to this writing conference. I should just sit and write, I thought, not go to yet another thing to learn to be a better writer. ("Because you're not very good?" my son asked when I explained the reason for me taking off for a day and two nights. Guess I didn't explain that very well.)

And then I felt guilty that the other writing mamas coming with me wanted to stay a second night, which I just can't swing. But I am warming to the idea of a different locale for a non-conference writing getaway. I wouldn't mind paying two nights in a hotel if I knew I would be in the room a lot to write and could use a fitness center, walk to a decent restaurant or two, take a break to walk on a beach or just somewhere interesting.

That sounds lovely, and probably a good idea to make happen in the remaining 5.5 months I have with the baby on the inside.

Clothing expiration date

Tonight was it. The last night I'll be able to wear the t-shirt I always wear to host meetings of the non-profit group I run. Last month a perceptive friend could tell I was pregnant before I made the public announcement. But my belly wasn't fully announcing itself to just anyone.

Tonight was a different story. I've been out and showing since I went to a WAHM on January 25, but this regular shirt over a turtleneck was pushing it. A friend visiting a meeting for the first time -- the one who has been so gracious of a listener and sharer just a few months after a miscarriage -- announced, "Well, you're really sporting the belly bump!" I felt embarrassed.

I guess I still don't know what it means to be a proud pregnant lady. This time last time, I was giving a presentation to a scholastic journalism conference and wearing maternity sweaters that made it obvious. I remember looking at myself naked in the hotel mirror and thinking, "I am absolutely huge."

Monday I was up to 114 lbs. and today the same scale said almost 117. I haven't dragged out my files to check on anything and haven't even given the forms to the midwife to get her own copy of them. So who knows how my growth compares to last time. I just know that the feelings I'm having do not.

Chest check

The other night was going to put my son to bed and so took off my bra while I sat on the toilet in case I fell asleep and just wanted to go to bed in my sweatshirt. The sight of my nipples caught my dear boy's attention.

"Why are they red?" he asked? Purple might be more accurate, but I guess compared to the pale pink he's used to, they probably do look red. I said something about that just happens in pregnancy. The nipples get dark. He wanted a close-up inspection, to look at whatever is on the tip of my larger-than normal pointers. I agree, it looks kinda funky.

Having nursed for three years, I used to be used to my son looking at my breasts. This, though, was like a rediscovery, as though he'd returned to country he'd forgotten about to find a whole crop of new houses in what used to be an empty field. I put my shirt down. He lifted it up and then tried looking down the front of my shirt when I pushed his hand down.

I got off the toilet, washed my hands, and announced it was time for bed.