Itty, bitty living space

Written by: Hillary Grigonis

Yesterday, I was reminded of a scene in Disney's Aladdin, the one where the big blue Genie exclaims retreating to his lamp, “Phenomenal cosmic powers—Itty bitty living space!”

Okay, so Trouble's powers may not be cosmic (though he does have the power to keep me awake at night or head to bathroom), but he sure is running out of living space. And he's not too happy about it. While I was working yesterday, he had a limb (or maybe even his head or butt) stretched out rather painfully into my side. After he didn't move from that spot for a few minutes, I gently pressed my hand there.

He kicked back—and then didn't stop moving for another two hours. I'm always amazed at the little things I do that get a reaction from him, but this particular one seemed to say, Excuse me, mother, but this is my space, not yours. Oh dear, my child is stubborn already.

He moved out of that painful position for a few minutes, but then decided to move back, while kicking hard enough to make my belly move up and down. I wasn't quite sure if I should laugh or cry, but I sure didn't get much work done after that.

I'm sitting in the doctor's office writing this blog, waiting the necessary hour for the routine glucose test at 28 weeks. And after drinking the liquid at the start of the test (Sugary cough syrup anyone? I'll share! Really, there's way too much here for me to finish…), Trouble's been doing summersaults. I can actually watch the edge of my stomach move as he rolls. He seems pretty intent on moving just as much regardless of how much his living quarters are shrinking (or rather how much faster he's growing than his living quarters).

And as Trouble's living quarters seem to shrink as my belly keeps expanding, I'm finding there's less space for me too. I know my bed is the same queen sized bed that it's been for years—but my side of the bed seems to be much smaller than it was a few months ago, between the bigger belly and giant body pillow that is now a necessity for any sort of comfort. And as I'm sure my dogs and cat have noticed, the available space on my lap is also shrinking.

As a kid, I always felt bad for Genie, being stuck in a little lamp for hundreds of years, only to come out, grant three wishes, and have to go back again. But I have to say—at least Genie didn't have to share his living space.

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