Space-time seems to take on a different meaning when you’re pregnant. With respect to time, I often feel as if I’ve been pregnant forever. Simultaneously and paradoxically, I also feel like I will be pregnant for another eternity while at the same time, there’s not enough time to prepare. It’s an odd thing to wrap your head around; one day, you and your husband will go on an “outing” (and by that, I mean reporting to the hospital) and when you return home, you will have added a whole extra person to the equation – a person that didn’t even exist legally in the previous 24 hours. Odd.
I think the spatial challenges are the most difficult. After 36 years, you get used to operating in your body and its particular size constraints. There simply isn’t time to adjust (properly) physically and cognitively to what is happening to you. For instance, doors are getting wider (not the doorways – the doors themselves). It seems like at least once every other day, I’m performing a normal task (opening the dryer door/dishwasher/bathroom door) when I end up whacking my gut. It’s really not good for a girl’s ego.
I also believe that just as the old myth says “buttered toast will always fall buttered side down,” so will anything a pregnant lady drops will fall all the way down to the floor, rather than landing on the adjacent chair, couch, or counter. It’s becoming almost comedic having to pick up anything off the floor, and yet I seem to drop about 30% of the objects I pick up. I think that wormholes may be spontaneously opening and directly funneling anything in my possession to the floor.
When I’m sitting on the couch and require the remote control/water glass/popcorn in front of me on the coffee table, I am often reminded of that scene from “Poltergeist.” It’s the one where Jobeth Williams, having just escaped the corpse-filled swimming pool, hears her children screaming from the door at the end of the hall (where they’re about to be sucked into their haunted closet by the TV people). She begins running toward the door, which is a distance of only about 12 feet. Somehow, the hall floor keeps expanding, and she ends up running for several seconds at full tilt trying to reach it. That’s EXACTLY what trying to reach that remote/water glass/popcorn is like. The distance between me and the coffee table keeps expanding exponentially.
The point is it seems as if the laws of physics just don’t make sense in this body anymore. Even the cats are confused, as they don’t fit on my lap anymore. What would Carl Sagan say?