Invasion of the boobie snatchers

The end of last week I experienced a brief interruption of a little something I like to call, "Isn't the second trimester a fucking awesomely happy time?!?" I mean, I have been feeling GREAT:
Not too tired,
not too proud to take a nap.
Not too hungry,
not too enormous.
I've been growing
but feeling light;
Busy-
but not hassled;
and very "shmoopy" (translation: cuddly, giggly, relaxed, intimate, comfy, affectionate...) here at home with my pretty wife.

My body is doing the pregnancy thing.
My body is doing me proud.
And my brain has had the good sense (for the most part) to just stay out of it... To let go, to not freak out or try to control things that are happening on what is mostly an ancient, organic, physical, and spiritual journey. And I've been feeling well (knock on wood):
No colds or respiratory problems
Nothing more than minor body aches and pains
Limited interruptions in activity
Sleeping well through the night
No experience of anxiety and/or depression
No interruption in digestion...

Thursday into Friday of last week, though, I got all bound up. It didn't last long and by medical standards, it wasn't like I could have been diagnosed as "constipated," (trains were still pulling out of the station, if you know what I mean,) but I'm telling you the shit was stuck up in there and it didn't feel good.

Zen went out the window too. I was less focused on what was happening and I was obsessed with the more detailed, abstract picture- which I think can be best summarized as: "If this is how some minor constipation is affecting my overall mood and sense of health, the third trimester is going to suck!!!" You see how I jump way ahead of myself there? Applying freakish, and unnecessary generalizations? Planning for the worst? Ignoring all that has gone right so far and assuming that things will suddenly shift course? It's not the best way to live... and so I'm here trying to re-align the experience.

First of all, my own home remedy for a "touch of constipation":
1) Drink more water
2) Snack on a few dried prunes
3) Incorporate a McD's Big Mac into one noon-time meal
worked like a charm and all has been flowing smooth since. More importantly, that disturbing mental image of the baby fighting a dung heap for space in my abdomen has also dissipated.

There is a lot about pregnancy that is expected but totally bizarre. Expected, if you read a book or two, or even a short article in a baby magazine. You quickly learn that most things that would normally send you RUNNING to an oncologist or neurologist's office, are perfectly normal during pregnancy.

If, as previously mentioned, you have an interruption in your elimination pattern... gas, indigestion, constipation, distortion in how food tastes, new food aversions, food cravings (including but not limited to a desire to eat clay, dirt, and cigarette butts...) Any and all changes in your experience of dining, salivation, mastication, and digestion are completely normal.

That is the answer. No book feels the need to give you a more detailed explanation. (Some books will go the extra "we-don't-wanna-get-sued-for-this" mile and add a list of all the horrific and unlikely things that might be killing you and/or causing harm to your baby before adding that your fill-in-the-blank-symptom is a "completely normal" part of pregnancy.)

If your hair and fingernails start growing like a werewolf? Normal.
If your shoes don't fit and your feet jump a size? Normal.
If you are tired? Normal
If you are energetic? Standard
If your mood is calm and consistent, or swings like a vine? All are to be expected.
If you lose your balance, experience vertigo, or a change in personality? Not a problem.
If you are full of joy? You are normal.
If you are full of fear? Also normal.
If you are horny? It is the hormones.
If you are not horny? Is is also the NORMAL functioning of hormones.

As your belly grows, as the kid starts doing half-gainers inside of your womb, as the general construction of your pelvis starts to change and your ligaments slowly come undone to make room for the baby to birth out, there is an innate security system that alarms. A sensible, body-and-soul-protecting brain, detecting these physical changes might begin a conversation: "Hello, you... It's your brain. (Warning. Warning. Warning.) I detect we might have encountered a problem. (Warning. Warning. Warning.) We may be in the throws of what will ultimately overload and destroy the entire system. (Warning. Warning. Warning.)" It seems fair that anxiety in pregnancy is nothing more than a healthy consciousness warning of danger ahead.

But the brain is not just a linear machine extrapolating diagnostic information, computing risk-analysis, and mapping out strategic plans, there is an imagination center and there are chemicals in there too. The psychedelic pimp part of your brain doesn't even offer drugs, he just pumps them into the air. The defcon 4 light seems more calming blue than burning red and the backround noise "(Warning. Warning. Warning)" sounds much more Norah Jones: "(Come away with me)." The computer's passionless voice is drowned out by a sexy, sweet: "Here sister, have some endorphins... relax, enjoy the ride..."

The one change that has totally freaked me out and pushed the limits of what I am ready to accept as normal, has to do with nipple reassignment. The books have not been as descriptive as I am about to be- but they have all told me, this is a normal part of pregnancy and motherhood...

My nipples have migrated south- most likely forever. My boobs- large by any standards, have nearly doubled in mass and capacity. They are by far (and have been for months) the most "pregnant" thing about me. Most disturbing is not the change in proportion, but the change in shape and (as I have alluded) the change in nipple location. I can't lean over a table or chair without jumping up in surprise as I have scraped a nipple or two. While naked, I can't locate the things without manually raising my mounds in inspection. And then when my gaze falls upon the new nipples, I cannot recognize them as something that is attached to my body. A few months ago, Katy rolled toward me from her edge of our queen size bed and I yelped: "YOU'RE ON MY NIPPLES!!!" She jumped back with good reaction time, and shifted her weight that somehow still set down on nipple-land.
"How??? I'm not even near you?!?"
"I don't know," I replied, "I don't know where they are... But you are ON THEM!"

Seriously, I know why this is happening, I understand the evolutionary science behind it... but HOW? If I was one of these people that didn't know I was pregnant and was ignorant or in denial of my pregnancy symptoms, and didn't realize I had missed 5 menstrual cycles, my nipples would have had me seeking medical attention, and single double-handedly prevented me from "unexpectedly" birthing a baby in the toilet one day next fall... They are just absolutely foreign and changed: They literally sway and point in new directions. They have changed so much, that I'm convinced a totally innocent version of me would know that something bigger was coming. If I lived in the time of cave people and/or in a societal vacuum when all humans older than me had died before they could write books or teach me what they knew about pregnancy and lactation, I think the day that milk suddenly started spraying out of my breasts, I would have no choice but to slap my head and say, "I guess i should have seen this coming."