Are You There, Buddha? It's Me, Phuong.

It’s 1:46am, and I am wide awake.  I am going to chalk this up to the fact that there is a growing human appendage continuously punching my lady-pouch.  Or, it could be the fact that I cannot breath because of the influenza that has dug its Jamberried claws into my nasal passages.  Combined with the calming blue night light and cascading vapors of the humidifier (man, I should Instagram this!), my mind starts to wonder about what really is going on inside my body right now.  

Buddha, you epitomize compassion and mindfulness.  So, I thought you may be able to provide some insight into this whole pregnancy experience in a non-judgey way.  Lorde knows that unsolicited advice comes as freely as bathroom treks for pregnant women (and that I’ll never be royal).  So, I am grateful for your discretion (this is my subtle way of letting those who do not want to read deep, inner-teachings of my pregnant body to opt out right now) and pregnancy truths.  Here are my realities:

Why, oh why, the nausea?  I think this is my 22^nd or 17^th week of pregnancy.  This is my third baby.  So, to be honest, I pretty much lost track since the day I had sex.  Based on previous experiences, I have nausea 24 hours a day between weeks 6-14.  You know what, I am waaaay past that timeline, and this whole living-on-a-boat feeling still exists.  What the hell?  Do you even believe in hell? (I digress).  Come to find out, my prenatal pills may be the cause of this trauma.  How can this be?  I bought them at Whole Foods, and everything from there is good for me because it costs a shit-ton. 

Breasts are Unbralievable!  As someone who essentially had concaving breasts until I had my first child, I am thankful for the small mounds that I now carry upon my chest.  And, the work they did to feed Bennet and Ruby was breasttakingly amazing.  I just wonder how much prep time they need to do their jobs, because these ladies are getting heavy.  The daily task of putting on a bra requires forklifts and shoehorns.  The nightly task of taking off a brassiere could result in getting knocked out by two heavy sacks of mammary glands.  Poor Ruby—she was standing too close, and her large, sweet head was just the right height.  It was a good lesson for Benny, though.

What Effing Glow?  I really did marry the kindest man in the world, and I know I am lucky.  On a regular basis, he will make references to my “glow”.  I really do try my hardest to acknowledge his kind words, because I know he means them with all his heart.  When in reality, I know what he really sees is a thin layer of throw-up that I likely did not clean off well.  Or, it could be the stain of tears (damn hormones and Depeche Mode songs) that has permanently made residence upon my cherubic face.

Dry panties are overrated, right?  During my first pregnancy, the principal at my school made a joke about foregoing bladder control once I had children.  I chuckled because 1) it was inappropriate and awkward and 2) I had a bladder of steel (I was raised on bok choy and fatty pork for goodness sakes).  Alas, I realized how true her words rang when I excitedly went for a run at the gym when Bennet was two months old.  As I rounded out my workout, I naturally pushed up the speed on the treadmill.  As my post-pregnancy ego burst wide pride, my legs were being warmed by the continuous flow of motherly urine.  At the time, I was appalled.  After some very intimate physical therapy, a few pregnancies under my belt and lack of all pride, I am now okay with this new normal.  And, I am just happy this bout of flu has only resulted in 1, 253 sneezes.  Pantyliners should definitely be renamed Partyfinders.

What’s the point of nipples?  Again, I know my body is preparing to feed a child—nipples darken and enlarge so the baby can find the food source.  In theory, it’s a very cool phenomenon.  In real life and real time, my nipples are stoic and crazy erect--mounted on my sovereign breasts much like the Queen’s Guards.  With this new superpower, I could land a plane flying through fog by merely lifting my shirt.  Or, if we were all trapped in a glass building, I could definitely Macgyver us out by cutting the glass with the tips of my bosoms. 

And, why do my girls confuse the word pimples for nipples?  Bennet keeps telling people she does not want pimples (nipples, really!), and people just keep telling her to wash her face. 

Memory Loss & Found You know, Buddha, each pregnancy has become more challenging.  One would think that I would choose to forego this tiresome process.   Of course, we have already discussed the months of nausea, sexy incontinence and battery of bodily changes.  This pregnancy has also included some novelty:  a rash under both armpits, early onset of skin tags and an airplane trip that resulted in me filling up many white bags in front of coworkers (bless their hearts for stealing bags from other passengers).  It’s funny how the mind empties the negative and fills it up with a plethora of reasons to have another little human. 

Buddha, I am not sure my aforementioned sufferings will yield pregnancy-enlightenment.  I do know that based on karma, the law of cause of effect, Jeremy and I are putting some good into this world because we have received so much joy from our Bennet and Ruby.  

(We love how they stand in front of very large, joyful doors.)

(Joy can be found from all angles and in Fort Worth suburbia.)

(Joy can found on the sidewalk and on the streets.)

We are tired as hell, but the wrinkles around our eyes are lined with glee, humor and abounding love.  The wisdom gained and the compassion we have learned to give over the last six years is all we have right now.  Gut tells me this will be enough for our next adventure.

If not, we will still have booby puns, ineffective strategies for escaping a building and George Michael.