Crotch belt bringing it home

35 weeks pregnant! I’m eating my last Cadbury cream egg. Yes it’s September and they never should’ve lasted this long, but it’s been a roller coaster of gestational diabetes tests. I passed my third and final one a few weeks ago.

Not only do I not have gestational diabetes, but there was some concern that the baby might be small. As of a month ago that doesn’t seem to be a concern anymore, but I still ate a pint of Haagen Daz for dinner just to be on the safe side.

This feels like the home stretch. I wouldn’t mind a few more weeks to check things off my to-do list, but I’m also dying to get my hands on this baby. And hoping, praying, pleading with my circulation system to please please please not be painful after I give birth.

My midwife warned me that my veins would continue to get worse over the course of my pregnancy. She didn’t say might. She was correct.

In the last week, the intense pressure of the veins in my crotch has turned into a relentless throbbing pain. I’ve been eyeballing a vulvar compression belt for a couple months now, but at $80 and no points for style, I was planning to manage without.

The other day I was standing at the counter for my millionth snack of the day. I love standing and eating at the counter, even when I’m not pregnant, but I couldn’t bear it. I had to sit down. I read the reviews of the compression belt for the millionth time.

It looks like a glorified jock strap. Everyone agrees it works. The main complaint seems to be that it creates 4 butt cheeks.

Four butt cheeks be damned. I’m taking my pregnancy sexiness to the next level. Between bulging out of the top of my compression tights and my 35 week belly bump, what’s a few more bulges out of my backside?

I like it and it’s super obnoxious. In addition to a tiny person doing a head stand on my bladder, I now have 4 pieces of straps, velcro and spandex between me and the toilet.

I’ve been refraining from asking anyone what’s the worst thing that could happen to the veins when I give birth. It’s a little bit like not wanting to hear other people’s labor horror stories. But thinking my imagination may be worse than reality, I ask the nurse who runs my support group. She tells me,

“During labor one woman had to have emergency surgery on her veins before she could give birth.”

Huh. Maybe I was better off not knowing that.

Five weeks or less to go. I have no intention of going much past my due date. I have an induction massage booked for a week before and acupuncture and walking and drinking a bottle of wine and whatever else might work.

I am so appreciative of all the help and services we’re able to afford. So every morning as it gets harder and harder to reach my feet and put on my compression tights I think there must be someone I can pay to do this for me.

The other day my acupuncturist watches me struggle to get them on. She offers,

“Can I help?”

“I wish!”

I really don’t know how anyone else could help me put them on.

A stranger finally said something about my pregnancy that made me feel better. I was in the locker room at the Y and she asked,

“Are those compression tights?”


“Oh you poor thing.”

Thank you!

I am beyond grateful to be pregnant and almost to my due date and to be complaining about a problem that has zero implications for the health of my baby, but I really appreciate the condolences for my vagina.

As sexy as the white one is, I went with the black one.

I am one hot pregnant lady

35 weeks pregnant. Things are getting real. The foot and butt in my ribs won’t be there much longer. And I’m looking forward to having full bladder capacity again, which wasn’t that impressive to begin with.

Captain used to be the hot, sweaty one in our relationship, but I’ve taken over. Pre-pregnancy I could walk the mile to the grocery store no problem. Now I need two frozen smoothie stops along the way. Yes I’m hot AND hungry.

I haven’t been hot like this since before puberty. I spent the first 5 years of my life mostly or completely naked. There’s a great home video of 3-year-old, half-naked Jessica telling my 3-year-old friend’s mom that he’s hot and needs to take his jacket off. He wasn’t and didn’t.

My mom threw me a wonderful baby shower last weekend, thank you mom and thank you friends! The present opening portion got intense. Maybe I was moving too fast, but the next thing I know, I’m dripping sweat.

My dear friend tells me,

“No rush, take your time.”

I have no sense of time when I’m opening presents in front of a group of people. Am I going too slow? Is it entertaining? Is it boring? Do people need a drink? Am I expressing enough gratitude and saying the right things? I’m a sweaty mess and not sure if I’m going to make it.

I did make it and all presents were opened. I pull up to the condo and call Captain to unload. He exclaims,

“Quite the haul!”

“Yes!” Although half the car is taken up by balloons. There’s one really big balloon that may still be floating when Baby Bop is on the other side.

I recount the party. Captain tells me,

“I’m really enjoying you being hot and sweaty.”

At least someone is.