Being pregnant has taught me a lot about what it is like for people with disabilities in this society. I'm not saying pregnancy is a disability, or that my experience in any way could compare to that of a truly disabled person, but I have a little insight at least.

I just got home after driving around for half an hour looking for parking. I was going to attend a concert with a friend and we were supposed to meet there, but I drove around forever and couldn't find a parking space close enough to the venue. Without something within a few blocks, there is no way I could walk to the venue and I ended up giving up. I tried! I promise, I tried. But I also realized that if I did park miles away I would have been so uncomfortable with the walking that I wouldn't have enjoyed myself at all at the concert. Even as it is, having driven for half an hour, my mysterious square inch is driving me crazy and I am about to crash land on the couch for the rest of the night.

When my patients used to tell me that they were fatigued from the cancer or chemo, I would do what the books tell us to do. I would tell them to try to figure out if they have a good time of day and maximize that time, and try to schedule their days such that they can nap during the bad times and be productive during the good times. Now I see how totally un-helpful that advice is. My good time is in the morning, if you're talking about the pain from the mysterious square inch. But my bad time is also in the morning, if you're talking about nausea and fatigue. Try scheduling anything around the hours of 11:30am and 1:00 pm. You don't get very far with that, I promise. I certainly don't get very far.

I hate feeling this way. The other day my other pregnant friend wanted to get together for a little girly manicure date. She asked me to meet her at her house and we would walk to the salon together. Even though the salon is five blocks from her house, I had to insist we drive. Because I knew that I would be miserable if I had walked that little distance. She had no sympathy, after all she's pregnant too. But she's having the perfect pregnancy and just can't relate to this experience of pain and fatigue.

Thirty one days until my due date. I want a healthy, happy baby. I want to go to term because that's what my baby needs. But I want to be able to walk around the block, go for runs, drive more than twenty minutes, sit upright in a chair, read without having to be totally on my back, enjoy an evening with friends, park more than three blocks from the destination, eat an entire breakfast without gagging, and quit bitching all the time about how yucky I feel.

I can't wait to meet my son. my son. He will make it all worthwhile.