I can’t believe I even typed that number. 37 is dangerously close to 40, and even closer to 38 and 39, all of which could result in a baby making her appearance much earlier than mom is ready.
And by that I mean, mom doesn’t think she’s ever going to be ready for this baby to come.
Don’t get me wrong, I can’t wait to not be pregnant anymore. But with the birth of the baby comes even less sleep than I’m already getting and another huge responsibility on top of Crazy C and everything around this house – housework, projects, my neglected blog, etc.
All things I should have thought about before getting pregnant, right? I know, I know…
You just get set in the way things are and it’s extremely difficult to imagine yourself adapting to a new normal. I will, the family will, and by this time next month I probably won’t be able to picture my life without our daughter, but for now, as her unknown arrival date continues to get closer and closer, I’ll settle for freaking out, self-doubt and taking it all out on my husband.
Last week my family was all lucky enough to get hit by a stomach bug. As if vomiting for 12 hours was any fun anyways, hurling while 8 months pregnant was quite possibly the most miserable thing I experienced in my entire life. Not as bad as being in labor, but I considered how closely it could be compared.
Then the head cold hit me immediately after the stomach bug flew away. I told Jason this a bajillion times and I’ll go ahead and say it publicly now…I don’t have anything to complain about with this pregnancy now that I’m not sick anymore.
Are you as shocked as I am that I said I had nothing to complain about?! Me?! 8.5 months pregnant and NOT complaining?
That’s probably a lie, who am I kidding.
I just cannot even get over how miserable I felt last week, and nothing, not heat, backaches or exhaustion can compete with a head cold/vomiting on top of all of those normal pregnancy symptoms. I get the whole “moms don’t get days off” expression now – because throwing Carter on top of everything else was just the icing on my miserable, I feel so sorry for myself I could cry cake. It was a rough week.
On a positive note, I can still wear my wedding rings, something which I could no longer do at 34-weeks last pregnancy, and although my weight is hovering dangerously close to the plus 50 pounds mark (no thanks to the blueberry pancakes I made for breakfast this morning or my 2 bowls of ice cream last night…), I still don’t feel quite as sluggish and large as I did with Carter. I’m not really sleeping and the sweat while being outside for any length of time is enough to gross anyone out, but in comparison to my first pregnancy, this one really isn’t as bad.
I’m still questioning whether or not I could handle a third, and despite it being “not as bad,” I’m leaning towards, “eff this noise, I’m never doing this again…”
Working out has been inconsistent, unlike my nightly craving for anything sweet, and I’m not afraid to admit that on occasion I have, in fact, felt like a human garbage disposal and I don’t really feel that bad about it (take that, Giselle).
Another thing I don’t feel that badly about is letting my child watch an episode of Team Umizoomi in the morning despite the fact that he’s not yet 2. There is nothing like getting 20-25 minutes of downtime to read a blog or 2, drink a cup of coffee and listen to your son recite patterns and get genuinely excited to do the UmiShake. Sometimes I even use the time to get some chores done, but usually Carter likes us to snug on the couch while he gets his tv treat, and how in the world do you say no to a 21-month old saying, “couch cuddle mama?”
Here’s the family on a recent trip to the beach at the 35-week mark. It’s the best you’re going to get of a belly shot now that I’ve exited the “cute and pregnant” phase and entered the one where everyone looks at you nervously as if you’re going to give birth any second…