Bummers of Pregnancy: Spacial Distortions

Posted by E-George on August 12, 2008

I am like a cat whose had its whiskers clipped.  I keep trying to fit through spaces that simply won’t accommodate me without a  generous application of PAM cooking spray and some serious grunting, heaving, or splaying.

Case in point:  Matthew and I bought a second car on Sunday.  *gasp!* No! Surely not! Oh, yes.  We bought my brother’s 2002 Infiniti QX4, which I am going to start calling Hudson because it is so luxurious that it reminds me of what it might be like to have a British butler.  Anyway, we had grown spoiled having one compact little car parked slightly askew in the middle of the garage, so when we tried to pack an SUV next to the itsy GTI it took some doing.  Matthew parked the GTI and I parked the QX4.  I opened the door, assessed the available space and, against my knowledge of geometry, tried to get out of the car.  While my legs kicked furiously out from below the drivers side door trying to reach the ground, my hands hopelessly groped for some type of leverage and my ass demonstrated surprising agility by clinging desperately to the edge of the slick leather seat all because my pregnant belly was very-nearly permanently wedged in the wee door opening.

You might be asking yourself, what’s Matthew doing during this whole spectacle?  He’s watching the whole thing unfold.  And laughing.  And pointing.  In between snorts for air, he points out that I might need to back out and repark the QX4 to create more exiting space between it at the GTI.  Secretly, I already knew this, but my subconscious, always the dedicated showman, wanted to put on a good episode of “Watch Your Wife Deduce Her Growing Limitations Through Action” for my husband and convinced me that I should be able to fit through that opening with No. Problem.   Clearly, it wasn’t working.  Stymied, my body went limp and I hung, indelicately suspended by my stuck belly, gasping for air and sweating slightly.  I manage to unstick (unstuck?) myself by crawling back into the QX4 and did repark it to create the much needed extra inches to just only barely allow my entire body to exit the vehicle.

After I got out, clutching my gestating child and trying to catch my breath from the exersion of it all, Matthew assessed the relative position of each vehicle, patted me on the shoulder, and in a compensatory tone, said, “I guess I could’ve parked the GTI closer to the other side, huh?”  After which I took all the Infiniti keys and stabbed them into my ears.

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