Tag Archives: Third Trimester

FAIL.

I had sort of made up my mind, since the beginning of my pregnancy, that I would give birth on May 4th. Why? I have no idea. Did it happen? Hells no.

Alas, I am still motherfucking pregnant.

My BH contractions started to intensify over the last few days, however, and I was sure that this meant that I was going to go into labor AT ANY MOMENT. And then when I started to actually vomit (AGAIN?! SERIOUSLY?! WHEN DOES THIS END?!), I was SURE that the wait was over and little Baby L was coming. I was positive that I was effaced and dilated and that, like my mother, I must just not be able to feel the contractions yet (she literally had NO IDEA that she was in labor for me until, like, an hour before I was born. We should all be so lucky.) and that I should ready my hospital bag immediately. But then, after the ONE BH contraction which was slightly more uncomfortable than the last, there was nothing. And then there was more nothing. And then, this morning I had an appointment with the doctor, who confirmed that, well, NOTHING IS HAPPENING.

20120507-133913.jpgI can’t say that it is complete nothing. My cervix has thinned a bit, and I am dilating, however, not even ONE CENTIMETER YET…which makes me sort of want to punch someone in the throat. (In fact, I would sort of like to line up some really annoying people and punch them one by one. And then eat a bowl of ice cream. Because…well…I am still, after all, a pregnant lady.) If anyone is interested in putting together a lineup, hit me up, I will send you a list. Some of the people might be SLIGHTLY unattainable (I am sure Phil Collins is busy doing something really obnoxious and will not be available for throat punching), but I will accept look-alikes or any approved equally annoying substitute.

Anyway, that’s where we’re at. Preggo and punchy. Any other way just wouldn’t be right.

 

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Using My Own Uterus

This image shows a white wine glass (WMF Easy)...

Oh, how I miss you, wine.

So, in the final few weeks of this pregnancy thing I’ve been doing, I’ve found myself bitter, cranky, easily excitable, anxious and disinterested in things such as being in public, talking to people, eating vegetables, and getting out of bed.

I think, just judging from what I have read, that all of this stuff is pretty normal. I have entered that miserable stage of pregnancy where I am too big/uncomfortable/exhausted to get much done and I am too over it to care. I just want to have a damn baby now. For fuck’s sake, when am I going to have a damn baby?!

The cravings for a giant glass of white wine that plagued me at the beginning of my pregnancy have been replaced with the craving for a giant caramel latte. Several times daily. (I would seriously mainline if I thought it would satisfy me, at this point.) Don’t get me wrong, internet, I need that giant white wine now more than I have ever needed a giant cocktail. Because I believe that my tolerance is now such that it might completely knock me out and shave a few hours off of this torturous game of “Waiting for Baby Without Murdering Anyone”.

I am pretty sure that Baby L outgrew my pelvis weeks ago. She seems still to be attempting to backstroke through her previously roomy environment, which causes a lot of doubling over on my part. And, you know, having the breath knocked out of me mid-sentence. And nausea.

I am growing increasingly terrified of delivery. I mean, I know the shit’s gonna hurt, y’all. Duh. But the longer the wait, the more I am dreading it. On the one hand, I say, “BRING IT, NATURE, I CAN TAKE THIS. AND I WILL TAKE YOU DOWN.” and on the other hand, I’m all like, “Would it be possible to borrow someone else’s vagina to do this with? I mean, come on, this is a joke, right?” As it turns out, y0u have to use your own vagina. Unless you used someone else’s uterus. And alas, I used my own. I am a moron.

As my due date not-so-rapidly approaches, I get a lot of messages from friends saying, “Baby?” or “When are you going to go into labor?”  And to them, I would like to say: I truly love you and appreciate all of your concern. But obviously, if you haven’t heard from me, I am still growing this little parasite and I don’t want to talk about it until she is officially OUT. And sleeping in a bassinet. And not in my rib cage. No offense. I just sort of want to grab an array of kitchen utensils and do some home surgery on myself at this point, and I just don’t have the patience to talk about how I am STILL FUCKING PREGNANT.  Did I mention that I love and appreciate you? I will call you when this thing gets going.

 

 

 

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Nine Months. A Total Lie.

You’ve all heard the phrase, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all”, right?

Then you can understand, internet, why I haven’t been a regular, every day kind of blogger lately. But I am here today to make amends, (to some degree) so let me tell you right off the bat, internet, that your hair looks LOVELY today.

Ahem…

Today, I am 36 weeks pregnant. That, if you are doing the math, is NINE MONTHS. And if you believe what you have heard about pregnancy lasting nine months, then it would stand to reason that I would currently be IN LABOR. But…alas…I am not. (And that nine months of pregnancy thing? A total lie. They say that, but they are lying. 40 weeks does not equal nine months.) I am, however, dousing things in hot sauce to speed up the process. Heartburn or no heartburn. I can’t take anymore. I can’t remember who said to me, around week 25 or so in response to my inquiry about why pregnancy has to last so long, “At least you aren’t an elephant, they gestate for 22 months. That’s almost TWO YEARS!” but I would like to say to this person, a) SHUT THE FUCK UP and b) you have a point. My thoughts on this vary. BUT, the sentiment has stayed with me. And for the record, I am glad that I am not an elephant. And gestation really isn’t the only reason. Their skin looks painfully dry.

For lack of anything nice to say, here are a few notes on my 35th week:

1. My belly has seemingly doubled in size. Until now, strangers had been oblivious of “the bump” and had treated me just as rudely as they always had. This gave me a small amount of comfort because either they hadn’t noticed that I was knocked up (which essentially meant that I wasn’t nearly as gigantic as I thought) or that people were just as big of assholes to pregnant ladies (which made me feel less like I was handicapped in some way). MB and I went to a flea market last weekend as an attempt to get me out into the land of the living and while we were out and about, three people made conversation about my pregnancy. This was both unsettling (because I realized that I probably now AM as gigantic as I feel) and comforting (because people actually WERE nicer to me than before I was knocked up). I didn’t punch anyone. Not even the lady in the dairy section of the grocery store who yelled across the aisle at me to comment on how low the baby is sitting, judging from the shape of my belly.

2. I’m a bit snappy. Throughout the whole pregnancy, no matter how irritatign things were, I managed to refrain from snapping at MB. Like, almost, AT ALL (which, if you know me, is a total accomplishment). But now? All bets are off, internet. I will bite his head off. And if someone witnesses said head biting, I will bite their heads off as well. No one is safe. I am a loose cannon. (Which should make this baby shower I have to attend tomorrow interesting! HA!)

3. I hurt. Pretty much everywhere. I never understood how a tiny baby, kicking you in the ribs from the inside could be painful. And then it started happening to me. And then I started viewing it as some sort of karmic retribution for accidently dropping my sister when she was a baby. (It was totally an accident, I tried to lift her out of the bassinet because she was crying! Sheesh!) The back pain, I can handle. I am used to my back feeling like it is breaking in half. And the hip pain has mostly subsided (unless I am trying to sleep on my sides or walk through a parking lot).  But my muscles ache. And my head hurts. And the nausea HAS RETURNED. (Did you hear that, ladies?! NAUSEA. AGAIN!) And I am pretty sure that this child is already the size of a 12-year-old.

I am ready to do this thing.

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Welcome to my Cervix.

 

Uterus and uterine tubes.

Uterus and uterine tubes. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So, its getting down to the wire, internet. I now have 5 weeks until my due date.  This has been the longest goddamned countdown of my life, and here it is, very near the end. And here I am, starting to freak the fuck out.

It is easy, at the start of a pregnancy (and really) all through the second trimester (if you ask me) to realize that you are pregnant and deal with that, but somehow avoid the reality of the situation wherein you will actually somehow have to expel this baby from your LOINS. That reality started to set in at my last OB appointment. The ARNP I have been seeing for the entirety of my care said, “Everything looks good. Next time, we’ll do some cultures and look at your cervix!”

At first, the statement, “look at your cervix” was mildly unsettling. You know, just because I don’t really want anyone to ever talk to me about wanting to look at it. It is private, y’all. Leave my cervix alone. Not to mention that I am feeling like a big, disgusting blimp and haven’t been able to shave my bikini line in order to appropriately display my lady parts.  (Gasp!) I am aware that my ARNP is used to looking at women’s nether regions and that she probably won’t care about my shaving habits.  And I am no stranger to the GYN and people have ventured here before. But I am also aware that this “cervix viewing” can only mean one thing. I am almost done. And one day SOON, a person is going to squeeze out of my vagina and this shit is going to HURT.

I have, thus far, managed to block out the fear of pain and discomfort and pooping. At least for the most part. Hell, I have been so anxious to get this kid out of me, that it has barely been a thought in my head. (Back pain, hip pain, breathlessness, intense heart burn and constant peeing tend to do that to a person, I guess.) But now, here in the home stretch, I am starting to think about what happens when I actually DO go into LABOR. (You know, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. The moment I have been praying would happen RIGHT NOW for the past two weeks.) There is no doubt in my mind that I can do this. I am strong and capable of delivering this child, but I am terrified of the pain and the distruction of my friend, my trusty vagina.

I have read a lot of really good birth stories. I have appreciated how candid and real everyone has been with their most intimate moment, when they meet their child. But lets be real, internet, how much pain are we talking? I mean, I know that the generic answer to that question is something like, “The pain is totally worth it once you see the face of your child” and I TOTALLY GET THAT. But, be for real! Is my head going to spin around? Will I spit pea soup? Will my body split completely down the middle?

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Getting our Shit Together

When the urge to nest hits you, it is difficult to think of much else. Over the last few weeks, I have had an increasingly strong urge to clean all things. Up high, down low. Pretty much everywhere. The problem with this nesting urge is that it comes at a time in my pregnancy where I am pretty much unable to maneuver my gigantic ass in order to clean these things. I can start a project, work at it for ten minutes or so, but then have to sit down and regain my breath and/or overall body function.

Yesterday, however, solely because MB is now aware that he is on “my fiance is pregnant and overly emotional house arrest”, we got a lot accomplished (read: HE got a lot accomplished, I dusted things that I didn’t have to squat to get to).  We were able to put together our adorable swing, the play yard and the stroller and clean the entire basic living area of the house from top to bottom. I feel relieved. Of course, there is still a lot to do, but progress is progress.

Now the dilemma for me is that we have this play yard just sitting in the middle of the living room as a constant reminder that I AM STILL PREGNANT. We don’t even have a BABY to put in this thing yet. And it makes me more impatient than I already was! (If that is possible.) It is hard enough not to be impatient when something is constantly kicking you in your bladder and reminding you of the days when you were empty and peed like normal people with normal sized bladders.

The next stop on the mother of all to-do lists is to pack my hospital bag. I am super ignorant as to what this bag should contain, however, and am worried that I will either forget something super important or pack like I am going on a vacation somewhere. I know that I don’t need to bring 32 pairs of shoes and I am in no danger of packing a bikini (because I cringe at the thought of THIS body in a bikini), but I am pretty sure I will pack like I always do. Like a crazy person. Because you never know how many sundresses you will need after giving birth. You know…necessities. A friend suggested that I check out a website that has a check list for this type of thing, so I guess that will my plan for tomorrow. I will have to try and work it in between my bouts of intense anxiety.

My mood is, however, improving. I didn’t even burst into tears yesterday. Not even once! And today, when I woke up to find that bees had invaded one of our bathrooms, I did not panic and did not become a profanity-screaming lunatic. I calmly explained to MB that, the buzzing sound I thought was the result of a common house fly stuck between the blinds and the window pane was actually about ten bees which had taken over the bathroom. Then I called my landlord, who is on vacation and probably doing Easter things with his grandchildren and calmly explained that this is not cool at all and that I am terrified of bees and chemicals used to kill bees and that exterminators are busy eating ham and searching for Easter eggs and cannot be bothered, but kindly asked that he have someone fix this tomorrow morning (or I will surely go insane). In the meantime, MB attacked the bathroom armed with some sort of spray and a shoe and all seems to be good for the time being. (And he only got stung one time!) Phew.

God, I am exhausted.

 

 

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Baby Update and a Near Breakdown

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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Keeping On…

During pregnancy, you can definitely start to tell when the “glow” starts to wear from your face and is replaced with that “I am 33 weeks pregnant and would stab myself in the neck if it hadn’t taken me so long to get THIS CLOSE to the end”. You can tell when this starts to happen and when people are starting to notice because people are no longer all excited and hugs and giggles when they see you. Nope. Now they smile politely and sympathetically as if to say, “You look sort of miserable/homicidal. Please don’t hurt me. I love you and promise that I will bring you chocolate next time I see you. Or…you know…I can just run to the nearest Dairy Queen right now and pick you up the largest Blizzard they have. Yeah. Let’s do that. Be right back. You like peanut butter, right?”

The Medical Assistant at the doctor’s office gave me that look on Friday right before she took my weight. She was brave about the whole thing, given the fact that she had no ice cream to offer. And I like her, so she is still alive.

The good news about the whole thing is that I only have seven weeks left. SEVEN. Meaning, like, less than two months. That is so awesome, I can’t even stand it! There is still so much to do and so many decisions to make with regard to when exactly we will be moving and if we will be moving in with family for a couple of months prior to the cross-country move in order to save money. I am so torn about this because, while I know it will benefit us (A LOT), I really can’t stand living with family. I haven’t done it since I was in my very early twenties and then only for a few months until I moved in with a couple of girls (one of whom being the one that I lived with for the last 200 or so year before I came to my senses and, instead of murdering her, just moved out). I really don’t love the idea of living with anyone at all. Ideally, MB and I would stay where we currently are until we can make the big move. And while I know that this would be extremely difficult with my not being employed right now and everything, I think it would be better for our new little family to get to start off alone, without interruption and without too many people all up in our faces. I just have to decide if my sanity will withstand a newborn and cohabitating with any members of the family (mine or MB’s) and then just suck it up until we get the hell out of dodge.

I guess I will just have to play this one by ear and see how it all turns out. We will just have to do what we can afford to do. And I will have to just keep in mind that, no matter where we are, it will be temporary and SOON we will be where we need to be. Uggghhh.  I just can’t wait to get things started already! I want to skip over all of this stressful nonsense and get to the good stuff.

 

 

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Housekeeping!

Over the weekend, MB and I attempted to remedy some of the clutter that has started accumulating due to the abundance of new things we are acquiring for Baby L. We managed to clean out the closet in our bedroom and switch some things around, making more room in the spare bedroom and some other minor things, which was pretty satisfying. I have, despite the intense urge to organize, been so exhausted, that I have been unable to do little without MB’s help. That, my friends, is super frustrating. I wonder why the “nesting” part of this process can’t happen during the time when you aren’t narcoleptic and in severe pain. Who came up with this damn schedule? I feel frustrated with the progress (or lack thereof) that I feel we are making on things, but then I realize that I still have several weeks and will just have to start working at a pace that I can handle. And make lots of honey-do lists for MB. He doesn’t seem to mind cleaning things that I can’t reach. Or lifting boxes and moving them from one place to another. And he knows that soon, he will be assembling strange devices and massaging my calves, possibly simultaneously. The housecleaning thing has made me feel slightly more prepared, either way. I have a plan. And that is better than where I was two weeks ago.

Housecleaning is sort of liberating though. There is something really freeing about getting rid of old things and finding places for things that have sort of just lingered around for the past months. My urge to clean house is spreading to other areas of my life. Namely, Facebook. I will tell you, internet, Facebook housecleaning is more difficult than cleaning toilets, if only because I fear deleting friends will hurt feelings. And, well, to my knowledge, toilets are without feelings. I am, though, as I have mentioned before, very private about things and Facebook is one of those places where privacy is pretty hard to come by (duh, the internet). I can control what I post and who sees it, but I can’t control what people say to me on my page, therefore, trying to keep my personal life personal is a little difficult. To date, I have basically been managing my privacy settings on facebook by creating groups and adding people to a “restricted” list instead of deleting them. Why? Because I am a wuss. Do I want these people all up in my bidness? Evidently not. Can I delete them without the guilt of having done it? NO. Because I am a super-wuss.  But I’m just going to go ahead and rip off the band-aid. Because I really only want the people I actually care about to get to share my new life with me. Why is it so hard to passive-agressively tell people that they suck the life out of you and you don’t want them involved in the happy new life you’re leading? You would think that would be easy!

In other news, I have another sonogram next week and I am super excited about it. This should be the last time we see Baby L before she actually arrives. That’s kind of bittersweet, because I am already so tired of waiting but I am glad that we will at least get to see her one more time to hold us over. The last time I had an ultrasound, the tech said that the baby was breech and that “hopefully, she’ll turn before next time”, which, of course, made my mom a nervous wreck as I, too, was breech and premature and my mom has catastophic visions of everything because she is psycho. I’m not worried at this point, though, because I was only about 29 weeks at that point and I’ve read a lot that says that the baby will usually turn around 36 weeks. So, fingers are crossed there.

I also went ahead and scheduled our tour of the maternity suites at the hospital where I will deliver. I’ve been there before and am pretty sure that I know what I am getting into, I did choose to deliver there after all, but I am excited to do this with MB because every day he seems to be hit more and more with the “Holy shit, I’m gonna be a DAD!” realization. (Which, by the way, is super adorable.)

I know I am late in doing this, but we are still not signed up for a birthing class. The hospital where I am delivering offers several “marathon classes” which are held all in one day on a weekend so we are going to try and get into one of those in the next couple of weeks. They aren’t terribly expensive and I am pretty excited about attending. If you took a birthing class, how was your experience?

I think that’s about all that’s happening with me so far this week. You know, aside from trying to stay awake for more than two consecutive hours and not inhaling entire bags of Cheetos.

Metamorphasis

Oddly, the transition from Week 31 to Week 32 was really emotional for me. I had sort of been waiting for the moment that I would start the nesting phase of this whole thing. And the point where I started attempting to rearrange furniture and start cooking ridiculous amounts of food to store for the future when I have no time/patience/energy/brain power to cook. But the whole thing had been slow-going, it seemed. I was beginning to think that I might not start to “nest” and that I would be the first woman in the history of the whole Universe who was content to take it all in stride and not feel crazy stressed by the dust on the ceiling fan. Well, internet, I would like to announce that I have arrived in the nesting phase and no speck of dust is safe. I am a dust vigilante.

I feel that, even though my journey into manic cleaning mode was a little slow, I have made significant emotional progress (Read: had plenty of mini-breakdowns) during the last 32 weeks.

I think I have been weathering the emotional shit storm pretty well, considering that I can’t have a glass bottle of wine to calm my nerves. In fact, I am surprised at the amount of composure I have maintained through some of this insanity.

The first few months of pregnancy were sort of a mourning period for me. That sounds bad, I know, but I honestly felt that my life would never be a) the same or b) as good and fun as it was before learning that I was going to be a mom. Because my attitude was, “Who the hell wants to be a mom? Like, for the rest of their life?!” Immature? Maybe. But totally how I felt and I won’t apologize.

After that, the transformation really started. I stopped wanting to punch people when they asked me questions about breastfeeding or when they had a Rum and Coke in my presence. I started feeling the baby move and that, somehow, became more important than celebrating my birthday in a crowded, smoky bar.  (Even though I was still a little bitter about having to break tradition.) I started liking the way it felt to have something moving around in my belly. It felt like my little secret and I felt special to have been chosen to keep it. And I started not to mind the constant peeing and pain in my hips.

As I have inched into the third trimester, I have noticed the biggest of changes yet.

1. At the start of this whole thing, I felt abandoned by some of the people I considered to be friends. Some of them, good friends, even. Probably because I believe that people are inherently good and that when you are good to people, they will be good to you. I’ve learned that this is not necessarily true. And I am totally okay with it. I have taken an introspective look around and taken stock of the people in my life and have realized that the ones who are worth being there, are not going anywhere. And the ones who haven’t been there? Well, they never really meant anything to me to begin with. It was a shocking realization for me. But bringing a person into the world makes a girl pretty insightful, I think. Who knew?

2. I’ve realized that I can’t change the world. I can’t change that people are horrible to each other. But I can do my damndest to make sure that I raise a child who can be proud of herself. I can teach her to love people despite of their differences. I can teach her to be kind to people and to respect people and mostly, to stand up for herself and not let anyone beat her down. I can teach her to be an honorable, kind, strong and humane person. And that might not stop all the violence that happens every day, but I think, in a small way, it definitely, most definitely, will change the world.

3. I’ve begun to learn that nothing will ever be the same.  And, despite what I thought at the beginning, that’s not so scary. Of course, the prospect of bringing a child into the world is terrifying and of course I sometimes see kids walking home from the high school bus stops dressed like New Jersey prostitutes and I weep for the state of humanity. And sure, I don’t really believe that young girls have any positive role models to look up to these days. And yeah, that is all really disturbing. But I know I can do this. I know that I will, for the rest of my life, put her needs, safety and security above that of my own. And I know that this, RIGHT HERE, is the most important thing that I will ever do in my life and I know that I want, more than anything to keep her safe. And that it will be my job to show her positivity and teach her how to be a woman, not Snooki‘s.  I am totally up for that challenge. Because while I have made my share of bad decisions, that part of my life is over and I can recognize that I have made a hell of a lot of good decisions too. One of the best decisions I ever made is currently kicking me right in the bladder.

I’m still sorting through a lot at this point. I’m constantly in a tizzy, trying to rearrange things or clean out a closet. And I am, surely, driving MB to an early grave. I have been trying to explain this period of pregnancy to him in terms of what is going on in my head right now. And it is really difficult to put into words. I want a perfect environment to introduce Baby L into the world with. I want her to be happy. And I am aware that she won’t know if there are dirty dishes in the sink or if her closet isn’t strategically organized, but for some reason, I need all that stuff to be taken care of, so I can devote every solitary second to making her happy. Sure, right now she is content to do flips at night when I am trying to sleep or punch me in the ribs, but when she is here, man, things are going to be a whole lot different. And I really don’t want to have to worry about dirty dishes.  You know?

Still working on balance. And in some ways, I am ready for her to be here YESTERDAY and, in other ways, I could use a few more months to get ready. 8 weeks to go, internet! 

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Updates on Week 30

Now that you all know how I did with the shower and all the belly touching, I thought I would enlighten you on how Week 30 of pregnancy was for me. Like, without all the cuteness and gratefulness of that post-shower post.

1. I’m either ravenously hungry or so full that I could vomit. The ravenously hungry thing happens several times a day and has to be remedied within minutes or I will get the torturous “heartburn of death”. The disgustingly full thing happens, usually, after I have had three bites of something that I really, really want to eat. Like ice cream. Or a cheeseburger. It is pretty frustrating, at this point. Eating has become terribly annoying.

2. My pelvis is being pulled apart by some invisible force. I feel that someone bangs on it with a hammer while I am sleeping. Or sitting. Or after I walk for more than 20 minutes straight. I am pretty sure that this is one of the most awful things I have ever experienced.

3. There is absolutely no comfortable position to sleep in. I have tried the whole body pillow thing, which did seem to relieve some of the pressure on my pelvis but it also relieved me of the ability to sleep in the same bed with MB, which is tolerable sometimes, but sometimes makes it harder to sleep just because he isn’t there. I have tried stacking pillows in ridiculous positions all around my body, which works for a period of time, until I start hurling (from what I am told) them in all different directions so that I can *get comfortable.

*A myth for pregnant women in their third trimester.

4. I have begun to waddle. I don’t think that I need to say much about this because if you have ever SEEN a really pregnant woman, then you are familiar with this.  It makes me feel like a giant penguin.

5. I am not AS obsessed with cake as I was several weeks ago. I can’t say that my cravings for it have stopped completely, and I won’t lie and tell you that I don’t drool every time I pass this place. (OMG, tiramisu cupcakes. TO. DIE. FOR.) But, for the most part, my cravings for cupcakes have been replaced with cravings for Easy Cheese and/or grapefruit juice. 

6. The peeing has become ridiculous. I feel that I cannot go 35 seconds without peeing. Usually, this pattern starts as soon as I get comfortable in my bed (comfort in bed IS a myth, unless you will be forced to get right up, then it comes quite often) or if I have gone into a store that I am sure will have the most disgusting public restroom ever (the other day, I gagged for a full five minutes after entering a public restroom and peeing at lightning speed and running out, hands still soapy). 

I had a prenatal appointment yesterday and everything appears to be going just as it should be. Glucose test results were “wonderful”, heartbeat is “perfect”, and Baby L seems to be growing at a normal rate. I, on the other hand, am slightly anemic but was assured that I am SO slightly anemic that there is nothing to worry about right now.

So, there you have it.  Now, bring on Week 31!

***Update***

I did, however, forget #7 wherein I mention the fatigue. Oh, holy Jeebus, the fatigue. I could probably sleep for 16 hours per day if that were acceptable (or if I could do it without anyone knowing what a slack ass I would be). Even though I am almost never comfortable, I can usually sleep about 9-10 hours per night (or at least mostly sleep) and still feel like I could wake up, eat breakfast, and then promptly take a nap. I am starting to develop a desire to start this nesting thing I hear so much again, but I don’t have the energy to move off of the couch. What is a girl to do?

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