Now I'm not writing from the watery comfort of my tub for the expressed purpose of being creepy (though it is a fringe benefit) but because such a high percentage of my free time these days is spent right here. As of today, I am 39 weeks pregnant, and my everything hurts, all of the time. I have become one of those people who spends most conversations regaling those around me with tales of my long long list of physical maladies, and no one wants to be my friend anymore. So for now, I will continue to take advantage of my own little gravity free capsul and enjoy every pain free, warm, floaty moment I can.
39 weeks pregnant. Today. Officially in the "any day now" category. Any day now, I have to push a giant, breakdancing watermellon out of my mostest delicate bits. Again. And it's pretty freakin terrifying.
This weekend, following a 3 hour long session of every 2-3 minute "just kiddin" contractions, it seems the baby has taken the advice of Captain Piccard and Engaged. This is the technical Star-Trekkian term for when the baby isn't quite ready to leave the party, but has grabbed his coat and headed for the door. In more experiential terms, it's the time when you are officially walking around with a bowling ball between your legs. It's super neat.
I've been thinking about nesting a lot lately, and I've decided that it's a whole big bunch of bull-puckey. I have to assume it was invented by men who are trying to convince their wives, after all these months of waddling and complaining and napping that they "will feel a sudden burst of energy that will really make them WANT to scrub toilets and mop floors.We swear!" Nice try, devious men, but I'm on my 3rd go-round here, and I'm sure as heck not buying it. Yes, I'm trying to clean house and freeze a few dinners, because having a baby inevitably means having company, and I don't want to feel ashamed, but the only nesting I've ever actually WANTED to do involves burrowing into a giant pile of blankets and pillows and napping for a month.
Although I will say, this morning I had a lot of fun raiding the grocery store and filling our cupboards with sugar-things and junk food and dinners that require no more preparation than a few taps on the microwave. Because I'm a good mom. And I take care of those I love.
You're welcome, America.
So this is the end of my post. I finished the whole thing without dropping my phone in the tub, EVEN ONCE, so I'm calling it a win. Sorry if the phone autocorrected me into saying anything more inappropriate than I intended, like at the beginning where it tried to change the word creepiest to creamiest. And if you found this whole post offensive, I assure you, what I was really trying to say was stuff like... rainbows and kitties and fuzzy bitty bunny bumpers. Dang Autocorrect.
*ish. And you can't sue us for lying if we say 1973ish. Because grand seem of things, it's true, and YOU look like the dumb one. So ha.