Freedom of Body

First let me say that I want to give no one the impression that I am at all ungrateful for the wonderful pregnancy that I've had. I have really enjoyed the experience and am so excited to meet the little person that is constantly squirming about in my gigantic belly. But just for a moment, I need to air just this one little thing that has been growing larger and larger in the back of my mind this week - week 33 of this process. I want my body back.

I don't mean I want the shape of it back, although being able to bend over again will be lovely, I mean I want control over my body again. Mainly, I want the right to abuse it as I see fit. The week before we found out we were pregnant we visited Foxen Winery and I have a bottle of their Cabernet stashed in a cabinet and it's calling to me. I want to drink it, the whole thing and not share with anyone.

I want coffee! Not a cup of coffee. I want so much caffeine coursing through my veins I can't keep my teeth from chattering. And cheeses, chunks of veiny blue Gorgonzola, oozey brie and the goat cheese from the guy at the farmers market who taunts me with his free samples. And I can't wait until I can eat a peanut butter sandwich without contracting heartburn so bad I have to call the fire department because flames shoot out every time I open my mouth.

Today in a stressful, pitiful moment I laid my head against H's chest and said, "I want a glass of Grey Goose on ice, so frozen it pours like syrup, and 4 blue cheese olives." He kissed me on the head and said in his most sympathetic voice, "Oh baby. You're an alcoholic." Which 8 hours later is still making me giggle because it's been 8 months! (Okay, so for the first 4 I didn't know I was pregnant and probably had some wine - sorry little man.) But seriously 7 months! That's over half a year without an ounce of alcohol passing over my lips.

The other day H and I drove by a pasture with a blindfolded horse in the middle of it. I immediately burst into uncontrollable sobs because I assumed the horse was blind and all the little starving children in the world combined were not as sad to me as a blind horse at that moment. Turns out it's just screening to keep the flies out of the horses eyes, he wasn't even blind. So yes, I am excited to return to some semblance of a rational person again.

7 weeks - that's nothing. I can do this. Clearly. It's my child and I'd do anything for him and he's not even here yet. But still...I want.