B-L-O-A-T AND THE BOOBIE-DO!

B-L-O-A-T! It sounds and looks exactly like it feels. Big, nasty and overpowering. I first noticed it a couple years back when I was in my mid thirties... okay maybe more than a couple. Up until then you could not tell me anything. I could eat what I wanted even if it was ladened with salt. And drinking? Well, I not only could drink what I wanted, I drank everything -- and all the time. And, oh was I fly! I was skinny and curvaceous at the same time. There used to be a song out back in the day whose chorus was "The men all paused when I walked into the room." And they really did, however, I should actually say when I "backed" into the room because it was not the front that got their attention. Hmm, how can I put it, there was another fitting song from back in the day called "Baby Got Back."  I was skinny with quite a big bumper, and I had a true coke bottle shape on top of that. So, I wore only nicely fitted (not tight) but clingy clothes to accentuate my blessings. I had nothing to hide. Oh, those were the days.

One day I found myself feeling a little... full. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a window and had to ask if it was my imagination, or were my pants riding a little high above my insteps? In fact, my pleats had disappeared and my pockets stuck out. That's when I saw it. I had a pouch that made me look three months pregnant.

Immediately I dropped to my knees. No, not to pray that time, but to do do 300 sit-ups. I did not choose that number, either, I just did not stop until I got that high. I was working on pure adrenalin and angst. And I did not stop doing them for about a month. It did seem to help, that is until I got a little too comfortable and forgot. so I slacked off. Oopsy!

Fast forward a few years, and I now look five to six months pregnant, no joke. When I am bloated, I no longer have "back," I have front and back. And the thought of doing sit-ups repulses me. Not that they would help anyway. It gets so bad that once when I went to a night club in this extended state, a guy asked me to dance. When I said no thank you, he asked if it was because I was pregnant? And, I, being more than irritated at that point still tried to be nice while explaining that I was not pregnant. Do you know that SOB argued with me and tried to call me a liar because it was obvious from my belly that I was. Needless to say, I have not been to a nightclub since.

All because of the BLOAT. and these days, I am BLOATED more than I am not. Two weeks before my "special week" and one week after. In short, more than half the month. And the rest of the time... I look three months pregnant again, only this time I am happy with it because the other days are so bad. I actually feel like I can feel it blowing up somethings. It's like that little Ty-D-Bowl man is in my belly with a tire pump. I am waiting for the day he goes too far and it pops.

At any rate, here I sit here lamenting the loss of the good old days. Staring at a ton of clothes in my closet, but knowing that I can only fit a handful of them at a time as I rise up and down the scale. I now shop for empire waists, loose fitting tops, and jackets that may help me hide my belly. And I silently suck it up while admitting to myself that I can do nothing about it. When I am BLOATED, I am a boobie-do! my tummy sticks out further than my boobies do and, unfortunately, I think it is only going to get worse.

Is There a Doctor in the House?

My husband is sick with a cold. But you would think he is suffering from Typhoid, Mono, and H1N1 Flu all rolled up into one. (No offense honey  if you are reading this) However, I swear men are the biggest babies. My child handles a cold better. I don't know, maybe I am just jealous, because when I am sick, I get one evening to lay around if I am lucky and then it's up the next morning regardless to how I may feel: dog walking, son dressing, breakfast cooking, and house cleaning. Will he sit by my side in the room and watch Lifetime Movies with me? No way! But did he expect me to lay by his side and watch basketball, the news, political debates, and the weather channel all day? Absolutely, and I had better not think about using my computer because that would defeat the purpose. And I could only leave to make breakfast, lunch and dinner.... oh yeah, and bring up medicine. To make matters worse my five year old was busy begging me to sit downstairs and watch him play with his Wii, and he did not understand why he had to lay in the bed with us instead watching "Daddy" tv. Meanwhile, I needed to create lesson plans, work on a project, grocery shop, and shop for my son's birthday party which is less than a week away -- none of which I got to do. 


So how do I handle it? First, I count down to 8:30 when my son goes to bed and then I painstakingly watch the numbers change on the digital clock until the Nyquil kicks in and my husband passes out. That is when I sneak out of the room like a teenager climbing out of the basement window so as not the set the alarm off. I tiptoe down stairs and quietly begin my work at 10:45 P.M. I do all the things I couldn't do earlier like post a blog, read my email, plan a lesson until 1:00 A.M. And tomorrow, while he has the day off and is still resting, I will be leaving work exhausted, but will be rushing off to accomplish some of the other crap I couldn't do on my one day off.


Honestly though, as annoyed as I can get about the whole thing, I must admit that I love the fact that he wants me there by his side. And quite frankly I wouldn't want it any other way. I suppose one way to look at it is that I am actually just frustrated that the weekend is so short, because I need one more day to do all the things I need to do. And, in reality, I don't mind him taking care of my husband when he is sick (I just wish his cold didn't last so long).