The funny thing about pregnancy is that everything can be going as medically perfect as possible and you can still be in six types of pain and miserable. If I could spend the next three months until delivery suspended in one of those cool-water sensory deprivation float tanks I might just take that option. Alas, I continue to live and function in the real world (with my old archnemesis, gravity).

I’m at 30 weeks pregnant and, according to the apps, my baby is roughly the size of a large cabbage (hopefully cuter). We’ve reached the point of viability, which means if things were to suddenly go downhill and he had to, uh, be evacuated from the premises, he would have a pretty good chance of surviving with proper NICU care. This has brought my family a great sense of relief and security, although of course the plan is to cook him for the full 40 weeks.

So far, medically, my OB-GYN has given me a gold star. The only issue with the pregnancy has been a mild case of anemia, fixable with a supplement. I tested negative for gestational diabetes, which is a relief because I’ve definitely had ice cream for dinner more frequently than a dietitian would recommend. My one kidney is doing a great job keeping my blood pressure down. And my baby is growing big and strong and clearly developing neuromuscular architecture, judging by the one-man kickboxing exhibition I get inside my abdomen every evening (and once in the daytime at a Prompto Oil, for some reason.)

And yet, the size of my baby is starting to catch up to my body. I am pretty much feeling some sort of discomfort all the time. Every time I switch positions, like from sitting to standing, I get a Braxton Hicks contraction. (If you ever see me get out of my car and I’m doubling over looking gutshot, that’s what’s happening.) For those of you not in the preggo club, it’s kind if like a charley horse in your abdomen.

Then there’s the back pain that has started up. I’m intimately familiar with back pain, which is how I know this isn’t my usual stuff and it’s definitely caused by the pregnancy. It feels like an angry hoofed animal has kicked me directly in the tailbone. I’m still dealing with ankle pain from my sprain two months ago, which hasn’t fully healed yet, I assume because all my body’s generative capacity is going toward fetal development.

And just yesterday I woke up with plantar fasciitis pain. Because evolution developed a hormone called “relaxin” to help your pelvic muscles, joints and ligaments stretch out to prepare for birth, but didn’t evolve it to specifically target only the pelvis, so basically every joint and ligament is liable to go a little wonky. Good concept, but the execution needs work.

With the ankle problem unresolved, plus the heat waves we’ve been having, I haven’t been able to do my regular walks with the dogs. I was never a fitness fanatic or anything but I walked about a mile a day and it felt good,  not to mention it helped with my back pain.

Desperate to feel some sort of muscle movement, I have started doing 10- or 20-minute “prenatal yoga” workout videos on YouTube during my lunch break. (This is another great benefit to working remotely. I wouldn’t feel comfortable hitting the cat cow position in the break room.) And as much as I hate to admit it after all these years, the yoga people were right. It’s been helping. I’m not sure it’s had an effect on the pain yet, but it does make me feel better, and it turns out having a soothing voice tell you to release tension in your muscles makes it more likely to happen! I am very bad at releasing muscle tension on my own.

I’m also in what I call the “hungry hungry caterpillar” stage of pregnancy, in which my appetite is through the roof and very annoying. Because I’m trying my best to eat healthy, prepping a salad or baking a batch of kale chips (which is a thing I do now!) takes a lot more time than just unwrapping a granola bar. It’s like I put 20 minutes into a snack and then an hour later I need another one. Maybe this is meant to prepare me for the newborn eating schedule of every few hours.

Meanwhile, of course, all the baby wants is cake. Not cookies. Not candy. Cake, with frosting. I am constantly fighting the urge to drive to the store and consume an entire birthday sheet cake, possibly right there in the parking lot. This is where being married to another woman really comes in handy. I think there’s some sort of female sixth sense about when a person needs an emotional support cake slice because my wife will occasionally come home and say, “It’s been a hard day. Let’s go get some cake.” Then we do. I love her so much.

I’ve gained about 20 pounds so far, which I have extremely mixed feelings about. Turns out when you’re a woman and have spent your whole life absorbing messages — both subliminal and extremely overt — from society that gaining weight is bad, and something to be avoided at all costs unless you have a serious medical problem, you can’t just shut all that off for nine months because suddenly it’s OK now that you’re pregnant! (But not afterward! Gotta “snap back” and all that. The only snap back I’m having is my snapped back as one of my discs inevitably gives way.)

My mom, who is a very wise woman, says that pregnancy is like a state of temporary disability. I think that’s correct. Even though I’m having as normal and healthy a pregnancy as possible so far (which I am extremely grateful for!) I still can’t do everything I normally can. I have to ask for help, when I usually wouldn’t. As a hyper-independent Virgo, that’s been surprisingly difficult. So far it’s been small stuff. For example, the other day I couldn’t reach the top shelf to put away a towel because my stomach jammed into the washer. So I had to ask my wife to put away that laundry.

Maybe learning to ask for help and rely on others is supposed to help put me in the mindset of my baby. After all, they’re pretty helpless and totally dependent for the first few years. Or perhaps the Old Testament guys were right, and this is all punishment for Eve eating that apple. Mmm, an apple. That makes me hungry …