PREGNANCY DIARY VOL. V: THE SEVENTH MONTH

By Ellen Seidman

Had a mini meltdown on the train coming home tonight. I barely caught it, and as I was trudging down the aisle, searching for a seat, some big, burly guy was heading my way from the opposite end of the car. There was nowhere for me and my belly to move, so I just stopped in my tracks. When he got up to me, he started pushing by and I said, "Please don't push me," and then he proceeded to shove himself by me and that's when I shouted, "DON'T PUSH ME, YOU JERK! I'M PREGNANT!"

A bunch of people glared at him, I was satisfied to see. I hurried along and found a seat, then tears started streaming down my face. I wasn't upset as much as I was furious. As I go through my seventh month, I'm getting more and more protective of the baby. Consciously, I know there are lots of layers of fat and fluid shielding the baby from harm, but still, I can't stand anyone jostling my stomach. When I walk down the crowded streets of New York City, I cover my belly with my hands and jut my elbows out to the side to form a barrier.

Dave is also in awe of this ball that has become my belly. Secretly, I think he's a little jealous. He now refers to me as "Big-Bellied Girl." The second I walk in the door from work, he'll come over, hug me and ask, "Can I see your belly?" Then he'll rub it and claim it's gotten bigger that day. When friends come to visit, he'll say "Show them your belly!" like I'm some kind of side show. I have to say, I do find it entertaining. We don't have a single thing hanging in our new house (all our pictures are sitting in the basement) but I just made Dave install the full-length mirror so I can really admire my stomach. At night, Dave and I lie in bed and watch it ripple; it's far more fascinating than any TV show. I most love how, sometimes during an office meeting, the baby will start thrashing about (obviously, he/she gets bored, too!) and I put my hands on my stomach and smile to myself, sharing a moment with the baby.

Maybe I am getting a little too distracted by the pregnancy; at first, I thought that might explain why I've become mind-boggling absentminded. I've been doing things like leaving the cordless phone in the fridge, running out of the house without my bag, forgetting my AOL password (and I log on every single day). At work the other day, I nearly had a panic attack because I misplaced some papers I was supposed to bring into my boss's office for a meeting. Turns out they were already there; I had stopped in and put them down but she was on the phone, so I popped out to get some water. I feel like I'm losing my mind, and it seems that I'm not half wrong; I just read about a British study that found pregnant women's brains get smaller in the third trimester. Funny -- as your stomach swells, your brain shrinks.

Last weekend, my friend Wendy, whose daughter is nine months old, took me to Babies 'R' Us to pick up some essentials. Four hours and three hundred and ninety eight dollars later (and that's with coupons), I was so overwhelmed I felt dizzy. I knew babies required endless time and attention, but I didn't realize they required so much paraphernalia: A thingamajig to make sure the baby sleeps stomach side up, onesies, a bathing caddy with four positions, assorted lotions and creams I never even knew existed, etc., etc., etc. Then Wendy called that night to mention a couple of things she'd forgotten and all I could think was, "Babies have survived for zillions of years despite the absence of just-for-newborn butt wipes." Of course, the next day I went out and bought -- guess what? -- the damn wipes.

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