The things I used to be able to do on my stomach

Millions of people have survived pregnancy and labor. Some haven’t, but I’m going to focus on the ones who have.

Last night was the first night my full bladder wasn’t the only sleeping issue. I love to sleep on my stomach. Many weeks ago, when I still had a discernible waist, I asked the doctor,

“When will I need to stop sleeping on my stomach?”

“Oh you’ll know.”

That didn’t sound very clinical. The What to Expect When You’re Expecting book offered a suggestion:

“Start sleeping on your side now, so you get used to it.”

I don’t like sleeping on my side. It seems like I’ll have to get used to it at some point so it might as well be not right now.

I continue to sleep on my stomach and forget that I ever wondered about this. Until last night.

I roll off Captain and onto my stomach. Ow. I wiggle around. Ow ow ow. My fetus, the five inch tall person between me, the mattress and a good night’s sleep is saying,

“Hey lady! You’re squishing me.”

“Are you sure?” I wiggle around on my stomach some more.

“I’m sure! That book told you to start sleeping on your side.”

I try one side. I try the other side. I try my stomach again just to confirm. All my tossing and mental arguing with Blurry Blob has woken Captain. He murmurs,

“Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I can sleep on my stomach anymore.”

He reaches out to snuggle me and starts snoring again.

pregnant sleep on stomach 2

I need to convince Captain to let me cut a hole in our mattress.


College/newborn baby, it’s party time!

My baby growing continues. 16 weeks. Yes, I’m counting the days.

Before I got knocked up, I thought pregnancy was counted in months. Now all I hear are weeks. 40 weeks. That’s a lot of weeks. I ask Captain,

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel like I’m getting ready to go to college.”

“College? Can I blog that?”

“Yeah. I know things are going to be really different, but I’m not sure exactly what it’s going to be like.”

“Except this is a little bit longer than a 4 year commitment.”


“And if you don’t like college you can always just quit, but we’re gonna be stuck with this kid forever.”

“Yeah.” Captain is looking worse. I tell him,

“I was really excited to leave home for college.” I was excited for freedom. Now I’m excited for a lifetime of responsibility. Or my best attempt at it.


Senior year of high school wearing UMass hat, shirt, shorts, sweatshirt and socks. It’s getting exciting.


The excitement has worn off.


I graduated. Success.


Squatty potty did not pay me to write this, but any day now

Before I got knocked up, I’d heard of one pregnancy symptom: morning sickness. For thirty years I assumed morning sickness means you feel a little sick in the morning and then life goes on. Nope. I felt like I was going to die. I thought I might be sick for the rest of my life.

It turned out I was only sick for a few months, BUT it also turns out that there are a lot of random symptoms that seem totally unrelated to pregnancy, but persist nonetheless. What their biological advantage is, is a mystery.

My symptoms in no particular order:

  • Nausea
  • Exhaustion
  • A lot of mucus and boogers. So many boogers. I haven’t had this many boogers since I spent 12 hours on a dirt road in Africa with the windows open.
  • Bleeding gums. WHY?
  • Serious food aversions. I have gone from eating everything, EVERYTHING, to 3 or 4 different foods, if Cheerios and Honey Nut Cheerios count as two different foods.
  • And sometimes it’s hard to poop. Pooping used to be easy. I looked forward to my 20 minutes in the evening with the toilet and Consumer Reports magazine.

The real Jessica is gone and this new Jessica I’m dealing with is a tired, sick, boogery, picky eater, poop filled Jessica. I hear that five months from now I’ll forget that that Jessica ever existed and will be agreeable to getting knocked up again.

Last weekend, 15 weeks pregnant, I drag myself to the breakfast table. Captain is concerned. He asks,

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m pregnant.”

“Anything I can do?”

Just listen to me talk about my boogers again.

I’ve signed up for every pregnant mommy group nearby. What’s better than talking to Captain about my boogers and poop? Talking to lots of women about their boogers and poop.

One woman asks me,

“Have you tried the squatty potty?”

“The WHAT?”

“Squatty potty. It’s great. It helps open up your colon.”

My colon needs all the help it can get. I order the squatty potty.

All packages that arrive at our condo building are signed for by the concierge. He then notifies residents if you have a package. I receive a notification and go to claim my package:


The return address on the mailing label is glaring at me. Really? Everyone needs to know that I ordered a toilet stool? Captain tries to reassure me,

“It could easily be for a small child.”

That we’re 3 years away from having.

But it works and I ordered another one despite the address label. This way I can pick my toilet based on the reading material I’ve left by each one as opposed to which one has the stool.