Belly Laughs_ The Naked Truth About Pregnancy and Childbirth - Jenny McCarthy [25]
My husband also noticed a different shape to it that day. He kept humming the song “Baby’s Got Back.” I soon became obsessed. When I would walk down the street, I would stare at the reflection of my ass in store windows. Then I would look down and see that my shadow’s ass even looked skinnier than mine. I was demoralized, and my workouts slowly became nonexistent. I could hardly breathe anyway with my lungs being squashed by my growing baby. I knew I had to try to surrender and accept my new ass.
Well, I tried. I tried really hard. But it didn’t work altogether. In the end, I just avoided turning around in the mirror to view my back end altogether. This did make things a little easier. I knew it was there, but at least I didn’t have to witness new cottage cheese dimples forming every day. Out of sight, sort of out of mind.
When I did get too hard on myself (which was quite often), I would stare at my pregnant belly and kind of hug and rock it. Reminding myself that there was a good reason for all this change and heartache made those tough moments just a little easier to deal with. Not easy. But easier.
No, Not Yet! I’m Not Ready for This Yet!
(Premature Labor)
You might be thinking that premature labor is rare or at least that it’s not going to happen to you. Let me tell you: It’s not and it might, sister. Don’t skip this part. And don’t ignore the warning signs.
In my twenty-fifth week of pregnancy I decided to treat myself to a day of beauty. You know, a pamper thyself day. First up, I went to get a pretty blow-dry from my hair stylist. While I was there, I started feeling crampy, but I just blew it off, thinking it was my ol’ uterus growing. As he continued to “blow me out” (sounds nice, eh?), I started sweating. He saw my glow and asked me if I was okay. I really wasn’t sure myself, so I called my husband, who assured me (doctor that he isn’t) that my uterus was probably just growing (great minds think alike). So I tried to ignore my cramps, tipped my hairdresser, and drove to the manicurist. While I was getting my nails buffed, I started feeling worse. My cramps were getting stronger and seemed to be starting a pattern (like every five minutes). Something told me that these weren’t those Braxton Hicks contractions everyone told me about (you know, the ones that certainly feel weird but don’t really hurt). I asked my Vietnamese manicurist, who’d just had a baby, what labor pains feel like. She didn’t speak much English, so all she kept saying was “Legs hurt real bad, legs hurt real bad.” Needless to say that didn’t help much, so I had her stop, and I got the hell out of there. Halfway home I realized that I could barely drive. Safe barely-driving driver that I am, I took one hand off the wheel and called my husband. I told him to meet me at home because I was sure that something was seriously wrong.
I know what you’re thinking: “She thought something was seriously wrong, so why didn’t she just drive to the hospital?” The reason is that these cramps felt exactly like menstrual cramps. In fact I’d had worse period cramps than this, so I convinced myself that I was doing fine. Women in labor scream and yell, and I wasn’t doing that. But when I finally got home, I started puffing like you see laboring women do in movies, and I started to panic. I called my doctor, who told me to have a glass of wine and put my feet up. What the #%*# kind of loony advice is that? To this day, I don’t know the medical explanation!
As soon as I hung up the phone, I looked at my husband and told him to get me to the hospital. Pulling up to the emergency room when you are only twenty-five weeks pregnant is like pulling up with a gunshot wound. It’s made-for-TV drama. People rush all around you and zoom you away for help. They’ll do anything to prevent a premature birth, which I’m so grateful for.
Once I was inside,