With only two months to go before Mini-Me makes her big debut, I have discovered the final hurdle of pregnancy.

For the first trimester, I was inflicted with nausea and fatigue which I thought was the worst thing possible. In the second trimester, I began to really miss my coffee, spicy food, and alka seltzer night time medicine and I thought that was a the worst that could happen. Oh no, I was wrong. It wasn’t until this last trimester set in that I was strapped with the most horrific pregnancy related symptom to date.

Dependency.

No, not the adult diapers. I’m talking reliance on others. Now, throughout my life I have been described as stubborn and/or independent. I rely on myself and am quite confident that given enough time, I can complete just about anything. Kevin can attest to this fact as he has arrived home many a day to find that I have tried to undertake some herculean task by myself and have been reduced to a sore and moaning heap on the sofa. Even though to outsiders my philosophy seems a bit pig headed, I personally enjoy it.

So imagine my disgust when I realized that I couldn’t do things anymore. Want to move the sofa across the living room? Not allowed. Need to bring in heavy grocery bags? No way. Need to stay on your feet for more than an hour? Don’t think so.

Oh, I’ve tried to ignore this whole baby thing and carry on usual but my body has sabotaged me. I say… “push, keep going, don’t quit yet!” and it just laughs at me. Next thing I know, I’m on the sofa with a big bottle of water feeling like I ran a marathon.

This whole “asking for help” think is killing me. Get this – I have to wait until Kevin comes home to do simple things like move the furniture so I can vacuum or unload the heavy bags of groceries from the trunk.

I suppose it’s no picnic for Kevin either as he is suddenly cast as my own personal Farm Boy but he’s stuck. Either he moves the furniture or he gets to watch me and my big belly struggle and he knows if JT ever found out that I was trying to move heavy things on my own, he’d be a dead man.

And so, for the next two months, I have been reduced to (shiver) asking for help. Thank goodness the kid’s almost here ’cause I don’t know how long I could suppress my independent streak.