Okay, pregnancy itself isn’t funny, but it sure as heck leads to some moments that can be… if you choose to laugh and not take yourself too seriously.  Here are some of mine:

~I swear half of my lunch ends up lodged inside my clothes these days.  Food seems to fall down my shirt and sit on my belly.  One recent morning I felt something sharp and stabby.  I wiggled the hemline of my shirt and out dropped a large chunk of toasted bagel.  I’m talking bite-sized; this was no crumb.  How it got there in the first place… I have no idea.  And I don’t want to know.

~The baby is already developing a sophisticated set of personal boundaries.  Lately we learned that she doesn’t seem to like having her heartbeat measured.  At my last OB appointment she’d been quiet all morning, but woke up just in time to give a good hard kick to the Doppler.  Won’t even kick for her Daddy, but the Doppler gets a good hard “Get this thing off me!” smackdown.

~Crying, crying, crying.  (Me.)  Everything sets me off.  I’ve cried over videos of kittens meowing for their food on YouTube (nothing sad about it, just they were so goshdarn cute and I’m allergic and DANGIT I WANT A KITTEN), Barefoot Contessa episodes (in my defense, Ina was helping some developmentally disabled kids run a bakesale, and then she gave them KitchenAid mixers… it was TOUCHING, people!) and television commercials… but my lowest of the low was crying in the jetway on my way home from a work conference because I had just thought, for no particular reason, about the book Love You Forever.  Even I knew how insane I looked.

~Biggest Three Stooges moment of pregnancy so far: whipping hubby in the face with my Snoogle.  I bought the Snoogle (it’s a C-shaped body pillow) because I was having hip and leg pain in the middle of the night.  And while it has pretty much solved that problem, the Snoogle creates another problem – it’s a barrier between me and the edge of the bed, which means I have to push it aside in order to get up three times per night.  One night I decided to try folding it in half, and it immediately recoiled and smacked my sleeping hubby, HARD, right in the face.  He made an angry noise and rolled over while I frantically whispered “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” over and over.  The next morning, I apologized again… and he had NO memory of the incident.  It didn’t even wake him up… but that doesn’t stop him from reminding me, incessantly, “Hey, remember when you whipped me in the face with your Snoogle?”  To which I have to reply, “Yes, but YOU  don’t.”  Good gravy.

I have under twelve weeks to go, and I’m sure there will be plenty more shenanigans ahead…