I grow big babies. While a lot of you think I was cute in that Wonder Bread bathing suit, I was actually only about 6.5 months pregnant. Yeah, you thought I was full-term, didn’t you? I wasn’t. Not nearly. I still had three long, hot summer months to go before my little 9lb 14oz Wolfie would make his appearance.
But this story isn’t about when I was pregnant with Wolfie. By the time I was pregnant with him my skin was thick, well, except for the skin on my abdomen which was stretched very, very thin. This is a story of when I was pregnant with Rachel. Back when I was the Termite Queen.
The day I found out I was pregnant with Rachel I weighed 109lbs. And no one, (except for my mother, who, like an annoying crier on a castle wall under siege, kept shouting dire warnings), could have possibly predicated what was going to happen to my body next.
I was four months pregnant when I excitedly ventured out to buy my very first maternity clothes. Barely showing, the lady at the maternity clothing shop handed me one of those cute little pillows that you tie around your waist. I told the saleslady that if my mother was right I was going to need a larger pillow. But she tsk-tsk’d me in a reassuring way and said something like, “Oh, honey, you’re a tiny thing.”
Of course, “You’re a tiny thing” is what every pregnant woman wants to hear, right? So I believed her instead of my mother. I was a tiny thing. So, money being very tight, I strapped on that little pillow and bought clothes that she assured me would get me through to the end of my pregnancy.
And turns out that when I’m pregnant I really like thick peanut butter and honey sandwiches washed down with chocolate ice cream milk shakes. As in I really like them. Every day. Sometimes twice a day. I also really like a lot of other things, and when I was put on bedrest at seven months I started eating in earnest.
I was a hungry, hungry girl. I’d eat my food, your food, and then look around for some more food. I suspect that Tick started eating some of his food in secret to keep from starving to death.
And I grew. And grew. And grew.
One day at a family gathering, near the end of my pregnancy, Ken, my wonderful, but completely clueless father-in-law, was telling everyone about some show on termites he’d seen on TV. He was giving us all the nasty details about termites when he began to talk fervently about the termite queen.
“Oh, MY GOD! She was huge! She can’t even move because her belly is so enormous. It was unbelievable. Her abdomen was grosteque…..(wait for it)….kind of like Chloe’s.”
I’m pretty sure I had a rather stunned look on my face as everyone turned to stare at me. My father-in-law had NOT just publicly compared me to a grotesque termite queen in front of the entire family.
Oh, but he had.
Then, in quintessential Ken-style, realizing that maybe he’d said something he oughtn’t, he tried to make it better by saying, “Not that there is anything wrong with you.”
Oh, gee, thanks.
I’m a grotesque horror, a freak of nature, but that’s okay, there’s nothing really wrong with me? Gee, I feel much better now.
|The Termite Queen|