There's a reason why you shouldn't travel after 7 months

I have come to the conclusion that most of the time my mother knows EXACTLY what she's talking about and when it comes to some of her old adages like - not traveling after your seventh month -- perhaps I should have taken her advice and stayed at home.

Babymoon #1 and #2 were two of the best times that I had in a long time. It was nice for Patrick and I to get away before having the baby -- to spend time with each other without worrying about who's gonna cook? who's gonna wash the dishes? and who's gonna walk the dog? We spent time just talking and eating and looking at the ocean -- minus the sex, drinks, and adventure sports, our babymoon was reminiscent of our time on St. Lucia just one year before on our honeymoon.

There were only three things that got in the way of these vacations being absolutely perfect: 1) A swollen, gassy stomach, 2) Swollen biscuits as feet, and 3) An inability to walk and talk (while in the sun) at the same time.

Somewhere between when I landed in Orlando (and I was a cute, round, fashionable pregnant woman) and a week and a half later when I was flying back to Chicago from St. Lucia, I became BIG AS H*LL. All of the dresses I had worn just two weeks ago were now tight in odd places and made me look like the pregnant woman that I never wanted to be -- the one whose belly in proportion to her body made people say, "oh no...look at that poooooor pregnant woman. She looks so crazy and tired."

But now that was me - big, tired, and crazy looking with feet that have grown 1 whole shoe size in 8 months.

Add a six hour flight that turned into 16 hours due to numerous delays and as you can imagine I was no happy camper. Between my butt being swore, my feet being swollen, and my stomach being gassy, I was willing to yell "ALL HAIL AL QUEDA!" if that meant I could get out of the Miami airport (where our layover back to Chicago was) into a comfortable chair.

Nevertheless, eventually we got home. After 16 hours of traveling, I was happy to see my apartment, my bed, and my couch. And even though I still couldn't get comfortable enough to go to sleep -- I sat in my chair, put my feet up, and decided to cancel my trip to Boston in two weeks cause home was the only place I wanted to be.