Blackjack

Here I am at 21 weeks pregnant and no one has even offered to double down. Disappointing.

Someone asked in the comments recently when you would see some belly shots. I am really not in the habit of showing my pregnant belly for all to see on the Internet. Well, at least not WHILE pregnant. I usually show them off afterward as part of a baby slideshow.

I did not, however, have any problem baring said belly to the patrons of the Kohler Waters Spa this weekend when Josh and I celebrated five years of marital bliss by lying around a pool and hot tub and getting massages. And all the poor people also lying around the pool and hot tub got an eyeful of a 21-week pregnant belly. Come to think of it, they did all clear out rather quickly...

But I jest. I can't complain at all about my appearance thus far. I have a tiny little belly bump and if you see me from behind, you wouldn't know I was pregnant. Personally, I'm not sure the belly bump is actually big enough to convince people I am, indeed, pregnant and not just fat. Josh rolled his eyes and assured me you could tell, especially in my swimsuit.

So we had a lovely time. Well, except for the absolute freak-out I had during and after my maassage. I had originally booked a regular massage, thinking I was still small enough to comfortably lie on my stomach. And I figured the "prenatal massage," which involves being propped on your side by pillows, just wouldn't be very comfortable. If I was paying $120 for 50 minutes (yes, it was an insanely expensive massage) I was damn well going to enjoy it to the fullest.

Except I laid down on the table and WeeBey started to kick. And kick. And kick some more. And then must have given up on trying to alert me to the fact it was NOT happy with my position because it just stopped kicking.

And when the kicking ceased, my worry began. I started freaking out that I was somehow cutting off circulation from the placenta to the baby and was slowly strangling it. You would think this was my first pregnancy with the irrational ridiculousness playing out in my mind. I was counting the seconds until it was time to flip to my back.

Once on my back, I started an internal dialogue with the baby that went like this: "Just kick me so I know you're OK. One kick. Now would be good. Hello? Kick? Anyone?" Repeat for the rest of the massage. It made for a really relaxing experience.

Of course, WeeBey is a big lover of the afternoon siestas and had no reason to kick me during its normal naptime. Even so, I continued freaking out through the rest of the massage and into the relaxation portion of the afternoon. I was slugging down cold water like it was going out of style, trying to incite some movement. I went in the cold pool, I went in the hot tub. Nothing.

Once we drove home to Chicago, I sat down on the couch and put my feet up. And right on schedule at 8:30 p.m., WeeBey kicked into gear and spent the rest of the night making its presence known. I finally relaxed.

Moral of the story: don't be an asshole and try to relax when you're pregnant. It will only cause you undue stress. Well, unless you get the special prenatal massage with the pillows. Then you will probably be able to relax, but your massage will probably be shitty. So just get your massage after you deliver. Because then you can also drink the mimosas.