I WISH My Husband Had A Foot Fetish

The day may come in the not so distant future that I may regret writing a blog entry with that title; but right now at this very moment in time I seriously wish my husband had a foot fetish. I wish he was so obsessed with my feet that all he wanted to do night and day is caress and rub on them. I would be 110% behind that kind of abnormal behavior.

Without question my current stage of pregnancy is to blame for me having such a thought let alone voicing it publicly. But it's so true it's scary. I cannot stand stereotypes and have an equal disdain for cliches, but as my husband CJ, reminded me they exist for a reason as most stereotypes and cliches are based in some form of reality. Well, my current reality is that my dogs are barkin' and I can't reach down comfortably and massage my own feet any more.

After a long OR short day of "whatever"- chores, running errands, doctor appointments, performing etc...by evening I'm in pain and by bedtime I can't get comfortable enough to fall asleep without some sort of relief. I'm following everyone's advice (dr.'s, midwives, friends, my mother's) and I keep my bad boys elevated as much as possible but still that only helps but so much. 

Not my actual feet, wrong color duh! But similar swelling as shown by the left foot.

Yes, the edema has about 85% to do with it, the other 15% is that I'm carrying about 40-45 extra pounds around- hello! at 35 weeks I am officially 8 months pregnant. From what I've been hearing that amount of weight gain isn't too shabby- but that doesn't make my ankles or feet feel better about the situation.

Yeah, I know- this image is REALLY adorable or REALLY disturbing.

Which brings me back to my original point- if my husband were obsessed with my "little piggies" I'd be one happy camper and I wouldn't have to saddle up to him as I have every night this week to ask him to rub my feet. "Just 5 minutes Honey," I plead. Although I'm desperately praying he's not timing it like those little pop up Asian stands in the mall and he gets so lost in whatever we're watching on TV and he loses track of time resulting in my gettingto 10 maybe 15 minutes of pure bliss. 

I'm seriously so uncomfortable at this point even if he were into sucking toes and that could somehow bring me relief I'd take it. Is it right? Who am I to judge at this point? 'Cause right now it's about whatever makes Mama feel better.

Postscript- The conversation I had with CJ this morning after I wrote this blog.

Me: I couldn't sleep last night so I wrote a new blog about 4am.

CJ: What about?

Me: Me wishing you had a foot fetish.

CJ: Why would you write about that?

Me: Because if you did then you'd want to rub my feet all day long.

CJ: Yeah, with my "winky"! 

Me: Horrified look on my face.

CJ: Don't you know what a foot fetish is?!

Me: I guess not. I just thought it meant you wanted to touch my feet all the time for your pleasure.

CJ: Yeah, WITH my "winky!"

Me (disappointed) : Well, then that would be that much fun.

CJ: Who knows, maybe I'm wrong I don't know that much about odd fetishes, but I'm pretty sure my "winky" would HAVE to be involved at some point.

The Pregnancy Card...and When to Pull It

While I am someone who is all about special treatment especially in the form of gifts like freebies, swag bags and bonuses. I've never been someone who gets them by playing on someone else's guilt. Even when it might be appropriate to do so. I've also never in my life played "the race card" or the "woman card". Sure racism and sexism exist, but my theory is that if I don't set myself up to be a victim of that BS then that greatly minimizes the chances of it happening to me. Not saying that hasn't happened to me, and when it has in the infinite wisdom and profoundness of In Living Color's Homey D. Clown, "Homey don't play that!" 



But at 33 weeks pregnant with sore swollen feet the size of Andre the Giant's I don't give a damn about making someone be nice to me or give me something to remedy my discomfort. 

Sometimes, like when I'm in the subway I subtly start to rub my belly. Which because I'm still not  that big has prompted more than one person to ask me if I had a stomach ache. (Please see my blog entry: I'm Not Fat I'm Pregnant!". I then say politely, "No, I'm not sick, I'm 7 months pregnant." They usually react with surprise and then say something along the lines of "Wow- you look really good for being pregnant." While my outside voice smiles and says in the innocent Southern drawl I can pull up instantaneously "Oh, thank you. That's so sweet!" My inner voice, the New Yorker of the past 15 years says, "Yeah, yeah yeah! Now will you please get your fat ass up and give me your seat- in fact I could use the entire row so that I can put my Fred Flintstone looking feet up."

 What I used to think of as cheating, like going to the front of the line, is now more acceptable to me now that I'm in this "more fragile" state. And if I was back in SoCal right now and I had a handicapped sign to hang from my rear view mirror I WOULD! Without ANY guilt if it meant I was closer to my destination. I don't feel this makes me a bad person. Just a person who for the first time in her life is putting her and her baby's needs before those of others. I've never done that before.

So what I'm really saying ladies- is that you're only pregnant for 9 months. And while it is an awesome incredible miraculous time in your like it can also be miserable on several levels so you milk that special treatment for all you can Girlfriend! 'Cause before you know it it's gonna be over! 

Just an FYI I am in a contest for the 25 Top Mom Blogs of NY- I would SO appreciate your vote ONLY a 10 days left. You don't have to give any personal info just click the button by my name from this link: http://www.circleofmoms.com/top25/Top-25-New-York-Moms-2012?trk=t25_Top-25-New-York-Moms-2012

I AM the Stay "Puffed" Marshmallow WOMAN

No lie, I don’t remember the exact time it happened, but sometime in the past week and a half I went from looking and feeling like a normal person to the Stay Puft Marshmallow man from Ghostbusters who threatened to destroy NYC with his awesome gooey-ness.  Only I don't feel so awesome, I feel more like a sausage just poured into a really tight casing. 

Maybe it was the recent trip back home to Texas that triggered it. I went back for a roller coaster of events, my grandmother’s memorial service, a baby shower attended by my high school and childhood friends, my parents 45^th wedding anniversary and my mom’s birthday- all within a span of 6 days. 

 Oh and in true Texas tradition where we have to out-do everyone in everything including the summer heat, the average temp was 101; however there was a day in there that it got up to 105. (By the way I don't know how any of my friends survived pregnancy in Texas. I have nothing but love and admiration for you. I applaud you all) The good new was it cooled off at night to about 99 which was nice – NOT! 

I think I drank my weight in water which should have helped, but I still puffed up. Well, my hands and feet did. I’m sure flying which does that to you normally didn’t help.

When my husband CJ came to pick me up from the airport he took one look at my feet and his eyes nearly popped out of his skull. Now, I’m the first to admit I don’t have the most gorgeous feet in the world. Yes, they are in proportion and fortunately I'm not riddled with crooked as toes from jamming them into high heel that were never really my size. My deal is that I have absolutely NO ARCH whatsoever- so they’re completely flat. (I guess that’s the Native American in me coming out.) So take flat already kinda chubby feet and add massing swelling and water retention and what do you get? The female Fred Flintstone or Edema- as all of the books and articles are calling it. I am pretty sure had our brakes gone out I could have stopped the car with my feet and my husband will back me up on this. Pregnancy 1 - Karith Nil.