First 42: My Favorite Position.

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My sleeping pattern has become erratic. Not because I suffer from amnesia, but because getting a comfortable sleeping position is getting harder by the day.

Sometimes I find myself talking to my baby asking it to just kick when it thinks I have found the most comfortable position so that I don’t feel like I’m struggling to breathe. The moment I find a position that makes me feel better and I begin to doze off, the bladder gets full. I honestly think that my bladder is now the size of a ball gum. I would feel so pressed and literally run to the toilet, only to find out that what was causing me all that trouble was a drop of pee.

I have contemplated getting myself diapers severally but the fact the prices of unga and potatoes are my reality checks. So anyway, I get back to bed to try and find and remember the exact comfortable position I had discovered which never happens. Most of my nights involve tossing and turning, going to the toilet and listening to baby kick and being in charge. Matatus have become the place I get to sleep comfortably.

Also Read: First 42: Getting The News And An Incurable Laziness

During such moments, I try and remember the things that I enjoy now that I am pregnant. The fact no longer tell me to watch what I am eating is amazing. If anything, I am always encouraged to eat as much as I can. I can walk to the office with a bottle of soda very early in the morning and all I will be asked is; “Is that what baby has asked for this morning?” and I will nod and not say that I could still have done this even if I was not expectant.

I walk into meetings with a glass of milk or Ribena with oreos and I will be asked to find the most comfortable position for baby to enjoy its meal. They do not realize that I have always been dying to bring food to meetings way before baby showed up. It is absolutely amazing when you get to enjoy food and crazy meal combinations and having people think it is really cool.

Also Read: My First 42: Though Shall Colic Stay Away

People tend to be unusually kind and understanding when you are expectant. I have especially noted that conductors tend to have a soft spot for pregnant women. They will always open the door for me and wait to ensure that I am comfortably seated before they close the door. I am always addressed in plural by them; ‘habari zenyu’ and ‘chungeni msianguke’ are phrases that I am now very familiar with.

I not only have to queue but I also no longer have to go through those irritating metal detectors and I have caught several of the ever serious askaris manning the gates smiling at me. My house girl has also become very caring without me asking. Every evening, she always asks if I would love to have tea or porridge when I get from work. She always runs to help me put my shoes on when she notices that I am struggling with bending. I am enjoying a cup of porridge as I write this.

It is also nice to miss your periods and the madness that comes with it for 9 months. Every time I go to the supermarket and I see sanitary towels, I smile at them. The cramping has not been missed at all. I also don’t get panic attacks because I have missed my periods. I cannot get more pregnant than I already am. I now spend my time praying that the labor pain will not make me do crazy things and that it will be as short as possible.

Also Read: My First 42: What I am Craving

I thought that I would really enjoy my newly found cleavage. I forgot that I had to get new bras and pants and that having them on, no matter the size, will be uncomfortable. My favorite part of the day is when I get home and get those things out of prison. I know the baby hates them too from how it kicks after I get to remove them. If only walking without any innerwear was not frowned upon.

The devil realized how much I now enjoy my meals and decided to bring heartburns my way. I always feel like my chest is burning. If the theory that the intensity of heartburns tells the amount of hair the baby has, then I am carrying a kid with hair all over. No amounts of milk and suspensions have managed my heartburns. As I try to manage all these, I am trying to get in terms with the fact that Kyle now wants a baby sister and not a brother. How is a mother supposed to pray with such frequent change of heart? Sigh!

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