I’ve officially made it to 34 weeks. I am officially EIGHT AND A HALF MONTHS PREGNANT. And if saying that outloud doesn’t make me feel like a fat-ass, I don’t know what would.

The last week has been a total clusterfuck. (I know I said I would stop saying the f-word but the fetus can’t read, people. And I am TYPING, not SPEAKING.) I started out really excited because we were looking forward to our final ultrasound on Wednesday. I think that Baby L was even excited for us to see her because it seemed she did a constant happy dance for three days straight.

On Wednesday, MB and I had a lovely day. Baby L, however still as uncooperative as ever and not removing her tiny fingers from in front of her face so we could get a good look, looked perfect and is weighing in at 5 pounds 5 ounces, which the tech said is completely normal. MB was excited to get to be at this appointment because he has missed almost every other one because of his insane work schedule. Baby L stuck her tongue out in the middle of the ultrasound and then let out a big yawn as if to say, “YES. I am as bored of this gestation period as you are. Anyone have some cards?” MB and I spent the rest of the afternoon checking out thrift stores to see if we could find anything useful. We didn’t. But we had a pretty fun time, aside from my very slow-paced waddling and hip pain. (Which, we are told is due to the change in Baby L’s position. She is now a lot lower and putting a lot of pressure on my nether-region and pelvis. Hooray!) We ended our afternoon with some Rita’s deliciousness. (Which actually seemed to cure my heartburn!!! SWEET BABY JESUS, I may have found a cure! And a super tasty one at that!)

Yesterday, though, I woke up before 8am with the most severe hip and lower back pain that I have had yet. I decided not to get out of bed at all. And then I started to cry. Because there is nothing worse than having all of this free time and so much to get done and no energy or stamina or…you know…hips…to do all of it with. By the time MB got home, I had gotten out of bed and even managed to cook a very lazy meal for MB and venture out for a necessary shopping trip. A really quick one. But I was a zombie. I felt an overwhelming sense of something. Not dread, exactly. And not frustration, completely. And not only sadness. It was like a mix of powerlessness, hopelessness and loss all at the same time. Why? I don’t know. Maybe because I know I won’t feel normal again for several weeks and I might not ever accomplish the baseboard cleaning that I am desperately yearning to do. Or maybe because I will never have a day again where not getting out of bed is an option. Or maybe just because I am a pregnant, emotional wreck with only 40-something days until she does the biggest, most important thing in the whole world and the uncertainty is starting to wear her down. Who knows?

And though I thought today would be better. And it was. For exactly three hours. And then MB said that he was thinking about going to have a drink with a friend after work today. And then I became that psychopath that I was about the unfolded laundry that one time. And I thought to myself, “Who does he think he is? Beer is not an option! We have six weeks left and I’ll be damned if that jerk gets to drink beer while I sit here and patiently wait to pop this damn kid out. Without so much as a cigarette! Are you kidding me?!” And then I got angry that he had had the audacity to suggest such a thing. And then I got depressed that he wanted to leave and hang out with his friend while I am creating LIFE in my BODY and can barely lift my fat ass from the couch! And you can probably (especially if you are or have been pregnant) see where this is going to end up…where I am hysterically sobbing and snotting all over the place wondering if this child will ever come and if I will ever feel like a normal person again. And if MB will even come home from work today because, after all, I am a complete lunatic and why would he want to be with a lunatic?  Even if this lunatic is cooking his kid! You ladies know the drill…I don’t need to go any further.

Of course, MB (having done nothing wrong AT ALL) has since apologized for suggesting such a ridiculous thing as trying to maintain a social life while I am pregnant and I have showered all the tears and ridiculousness away and am feeling better. (I have to say, I am not sure I feel better because of the apology. Or the shower. Or the fact that “Dirty Dancing” is on TV.) I am no longer hyperventilating and can recognize that I am just sick and tired of being sick and tired and am ready to get a move on. But in the meantime, I am really going to need MB to just stay chained to my side so I don’t lose it. Is that so much to ask?

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