As you read this, I’ll be at my monthly parasite analysis appointment – most likely rockin’ a pair of stirrups while up to my elbows in medical professionals and alien-examining equipment. Technically, I guess they’ll be up to their elbows in me.
But as this whole parasite incubation thing continues, I keep thinking about those cliches you always hear about pregnancy…and suddenly understanding their origins in a whole new light.
Like, take for example, “She’s got a bun in the oven.” I always assumed that was just a cute way to refer to the yeasty tiny thing growing to it’s crusty potential in a uterus. In other words, I always focused on the whole “bun” part of the saying. Now? It’s clearly more about the “oven.” The overwhelmingly relentless, HOT oven. That I can’t escape. Because I’m the oven. And unlike the one in my kitchen, no one has vacuumed me lately. Cue smoke alarm.
Or what about that whole “barefoot and pregnant” thing? I assumed that was some sort of economic or social commentary on rural Appalachia, from which my daddy came. Nope. Apparently the feet of pregnant chicks swell. And grow. Sometimes a whole size. Like all at once. Like last week, for example.
So just to recap, I now lack pants AND shoes that fit. Fortunately I don’t miss them much because I’m sweating like James Frey on Oprah’s studio couch.
In other news, I’m fairly confident “you’re glowing” is what people say when they fear it’s inappropriate to say, “Are you sure you aren’t carrying that thing in your tits?”
Oh and I Sprocketed again today – this time all over Gaga’s face.