March 26, 2012 by Heather
Before I launch into the tale I like to call, “How One of My Best Pregnant Memories Turned Into One of My Very Worst,” I will share a few photos from our little trip.
Some thoughts about being pregnant at the beach… I’ve never felt more confident in a swim suit as I did walking around in one while 8 months pregnant. There were some interesting looks shot in my direction. Women my age and older would smile and look at my belly, sometimes asking when I was due or saying sweet things like, “What a pretty baby bump!” The spring break teeny boppers looked at me with a combination of confusion and mild disgust. I told Andrew I wanted to climb to the top of the lifeguard stand and tell all of them to take a real good look at my pregnant behind, because their tight and tan fannies will not always be so tight and tan. In fact, they will become quite lumpy and full of some sort of strange substance that (for whatever reason) does not tan so evenly, therefore making your upper side thighs look like a piece of skin-colored shag carpet.
Now, onto the tale I promised.
How One of My Best Pregnant Memories Turned Into One of My Very Worst
Being at the beach was one of my favorite things I’ve done thus far while pregnant. Like I said, I felt confident, relaxed, and I enjoyed spending time with my handsome
How does such a fun memory turn into such a painful one, you ask?
I’ll tell you how.
It’s called getting the worst effing sunburn you’ve ever had in your whole dang life. And I am really having to restrain myself to not type out the actual curse words in that sentence. That’s how bad it is.
I am going to be honest here. I admit that I waited about an hour and a half before putting on any sunscreen. Except for my face – that was on from the get go. But after waiting a bit, I was reapplying like nobody’s business. I was waiting until my skin felt sort of warm before I put some on. Oh, the error of my stupid, stupid ways. And I’m not new to laying out… I’ve been doing it my whole life. And I always use the same sunscreen technique because it takes me forever to get any sort of tan. Apparently the old techniques no longer apply.
Toward the end of our one-full-day-at-the-beach (we had to make the most of it, which is why we stayed out there for 7 hours!), I was making yet another bathroom trip and was waiting in line when a girl commented on how sunburned I was. I had not really noticed it, but sure enough, I turned and looked in the mirror and realized she was very correct in her assessment.
The pain did not hit until we got back to the hotel and were getting ready to go to dinner. Even then though it wasn’t really pain, just was more of a discomfort. A lady at the restaurant said my feet were the color of cough syrup. Ah, yes, thank you. I know. The same lady was by the door as we left and she told me how bad I was going to hurt the next day. Ah, yes, thank you. I know. Oh, but I didn’t know.
That night was, for lack of a better term, hellish. Sweet Andrew went and got us some aloe (his chest got pretty burned), and we both carefully applied it and slowly got into bed. By then it was excruciatingly painful for anything to touch my skin. I was up every hour to pee, which meant having to re-lower myself into bed. It would not have been so horrid if I could sleep on my back, but I can’t. Laying on my side, with my scorched body parts all piled up on top of each other, was so unbearably uncomfortable. Not much sleep was had by this here lady.
The car ride home was equally hellish. I knew the burn had to get worse before it would get better, but good freaking grief. I could not move. To top things off, my feet had started to swell up from the sun burn. I had to stop and use the restroom multiple times, which meant hoisting myself up out of the car and walking as slowly as possible through the gas station and to the bathroom. I know I looked ridiculous. After being in a car all day my feet were the size of bright red footballs, and I’m not joking. I could not bend them at all last night. I still am having to shuffle around, flat footed, putting my weight on the sides of my feet. Just call me cankles.
Last night was a tiny fraction better. I took a cool bath, put on some lotion. I did a lot of
hopping shuffling around during the night, going from the bed to the couch to the gliding rocker and back to the bed again. Around 3am while in the rocking chair I was finally starting to doze off when our cat, December, jumped onto my naked crispy legs and scratched me really bad. I screamed (who knows what) and Andrew came running in and I cried like a child. To top things off, some of the blood got on the brand new glider. What a peaceful night. Also topped off by the fact that every time I put my feet on the floor to hobble to the toilet I wanted to cry out in total pain. They seriously look like footballs.
I really super bad need to go to the store today. As in, we are down to our last roll of toilet paper and have no milk, eggs, etc. BUT as of right now, there is no way. I am going to keep my naked red self at home and shuffle around while attempting to do some laundry and unpack our things.
I could post a photo on here of my redness, but I think you get my drift. I am well done. And man does it hurt.