Quejarse

Back in my misty, water-colored high school years in the early-mid 1990s, I took a lot of Spanish. Like, a LOT. The equivalent of six years’ worth, to be exact. My high school was extremely math-and-science heavy, which did not line up too well with my arts-and-language-y brain, so I tended to gravitate more towards the subjects in which I didn’t – how you say? – suck a big donkey dick.

I had all the sub-par math skills of Barbie, with none of the boobs. Great.

OH HAI. I published this post without a title and didn’t notice for THREE HOURS.

When I left work on Friday, I paused to take a dramatic “last look” at my desk, because quite a significant part of me believed that I would be more preoccupied with the workings of my boobs than the color copier by Monday morning.

Well, more preoccupied than USUAL.

Love Lifts Us Up Where We Belong…

And by “Love,” I mean the Enchiladas Verdes platter I inhaled this weekend, which I believe may be responsible for the packing on of THREE POUNDS IN A WEEK that I was informed of this morning at my midwife appointment. The belly grew an inch and a half over the past seven days, and I no longer feel like I am somehow starving this baby, who now kicks me with such force I’m wondering if I’ve got Sally O’Malley in there.

She likes to kick, stretch, and kick! She’s [39 weeks]!

The Waiting Game

Still here! Still pregnant! Still being driven crazy at the thought of going into labor anywhere, anytime.  I’m kind of hoping it happens tomorrow morning at 9am, when I’m scheduled to fill in for the receptionist at work for an hour.

“Good morning, thank you for calling OH HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK MY UTERUS!!”

Let’s Hear It For The Brewster!

UPDATE: Still pregnant! Having contractions in the middle of the night; ignoring said contractions because I’m horrifically lazy and hoping to sleep through 90% of labor.

I’ve received quite a lot of positive feedback over the use of the term “brewster” as slang for everyone’s favorite fancy lady, the vagina. But I fear I cannot take credit for the brilliance of that term. I actually read it on Go Fug Yourself aaaaaages ago and laughed so hard I thought my morning coffee would come out my…well, my brewster. So, in the interest of full-disclosure, please go here and witness the truly awesome origin of “the brewster” in all its contextual glory.

For the record, “vagin” is also a personal favorite.

Neurotic Googling Update!

Just as my hand was halfway to delivering a bundle of Twizzlers to my mouth yesterday, my phone rang. It was Brad, Master Googler, who had discovered through his mad Googlin’ skillz that weight loss late in the third trimester is indeed a sign that labor is imminent.

FYI: I still ate the Twizzlers.

But what kind of imminent? Two weeks away imminent? Because that would be my due date. Or is it more like two days away imminent? Or two hours away? Should I just carry some paper towels and a onesie with me at all times? And maybe some extra cash? Because I’ve got a pedicure scheduled for this weekend, and having my water break into the foot bath might just be the kind of thing that requires a hefty tip.

I’m just gonna reach in here and grab my placenta real quick, and then I’ll be outta your hair.*

*I was totally going to use “mucous plug” or “bloody show”** instead of placenta up there, but I am still kind of in denial that those terms and the things they represent actually exist.

**Someone really needs to come up with a better name for “bloody show,” because every time I hear it, I am COMPELLED to say things like “There’s NO business, like bloody SHOW business…”

“You’ll be swell! You’ll be great! Gonna start to efface and dilate!”

The Cream Cheese Frosting Diet

Hello, Internet. Just a quick State-of-the-Fetus update for you: we had our weekly prenatal appointment this morning, and besides the highlight of hearing the heartbeat, the only notable news is that I somehow LOST 2 pounds in a week’s time. A week, may I remind you, that included an office bake sale (with the requisite plateful of cookies and brownies ingested FOR CHARITY), a soft-serve ice cream cone as big as my forearm, the ingestion of five cupcakes (two vanilla, three red velvet), AND multiple spoonfuls of cream cheese frosting eaten straight out of the mixing bowl.

Truly, this is a miracle of life.

I’ve heard that weight stabilization is a precursor of labor, but weight LOSS? Is a precursor of me driving my ass to Dairy Queen tonight.

I have a feeling that this glorious baked-goods free-for-all is the baby’s way of saying, “Go ahead – enjoy yourself. Because pretty soon ‘dinner’ will be eating stale Cheez-its in your spit-up encrusted pajama pants at 8:30pm.”

Thanks, kiddo.

My Cup Runneth Over*

*Not to be confused with “My CUPS Runneth Over,” also known as my first trimester. These days, the belly is beating the bosoms to the finish line in a BIG WAY.

OMFG.

Googlemania! Instant Classics Edition

Internet! It’s Friday! And I am:

1. Still pregnant;
2. Sporting a low belly that insists on peeking out of every damn maternity shirt I own;
3. Trying not to eat the sugar cookies I brought for the office bake sale this afternoon.

And let’s not even talk about how hard it was not to shove RAW DOUGH into my mouth when I made the cookies last night, even when the likely consequence would be salmonella for me and my unborn child. MOMMY LOVES YOU, SWEETHEART!

Two Days

First things first: NO BABY YET.

Would like to you know that SHE is still the baby, and was also HERE FIRST.