domenica, agosto 19, 2012

The miracle that is fat people

I understand, now, why people get so excited about how great the second trimester is relative to the third, which I believe I'm now officially in, though it's hard to tell, since there seem to be subjective goalposts seperating trimesters which I'd always assumed would be split evenly - the fucking mysteries of this pregnancy cult.

Now that the tests have come back pretty clear and I'm relaxing a bit, probably the most provoking thing at the moment is that I'm enormous. I walk up a hill I could run up without blinking seven months ago, and my knees and ankles hurt, and I need a rest. Turning over in bed at night is suddenly a massive physical and mental effort. My flatulence is no longer amusing even to me. How the fuck do fat people do it? How do they manage being this heavy, year in and year out? Don't get me wrong - I'm 100% gourmande and I fucking love to eat. I'll never be a skinny girl. But at this point I'm topping out 200 pounds, and I'm damn uncomfortable. Even sitting on a comfy chair for longer than 15 minutes is uncomfortable because your ass goes all funny.

The F-word explained that most people don't put on massive amounts of weight in seven months when they get fat, so I suppose their bodies and muscles have more time to get used to it, but there is NO WAY being this heavy can be comfortable for anybody, unless they're massively boned and super-tall, and even then I bet their backs fucking kill them. My back is still okay - I mean, I don't have chronic soreness, probably because I'm keeping up with 90 minutes of gentle exercise a day and pre-natal yoga. But once in awhile it threatens to not be okay anymore, and I'm full of sympathy for the men in my life who are, as the French say, bien baraqué. I really love that expression.

Speaking of, the other day we watched Les Intouchables. Usually I don't like my movies inspiring, but I'd seen a few moments of it on some flight or other during my second trimester peregrinations (man alive, now that I feel like a massive fat growth, and I ever glad I did all that tripping around!) and it looked like it would have some good slang. Which it did. It was quite good, I would say, certainly miles and miles better than the other massively overrated French blockbuster of the year, The Artist, which I also watched on one of the flights. And Omar Sy is hawt. Goodness gracious.   

2 commenti:

e.f. bartlam ha detto...

You've got one thing going for you that fat people certainly do not. Few things are more pleasant to public...than a pregnant woman.

Mistress La Spliffe ha detto...

That seems to be true. Australians usually live in their own little worlds whilst out in public to an even greater degree than the British, but of late random strangers keep smiling, staring and saying hello like I'm living in a civilized country. I think that's down to changes in my belly rather than changes in the culture.