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.
But alas, here I am. And I am trying really-really-really hard not to complain about still being pregnant this morning, because even though it FEELS like this baby is taking her sweet old time to arrive, she technically isn’t due until Friday. So I really need to cram it, but it’s SO HARD not to be impatient when Brad and I have been so overly prepared for this kid’s arrival for weeks now. But even though there was a fair amount of WHY AREN’T WE HAVING THE BABYYYYY this weekend, we managed to have quite a lovely time going shopping, seeing plays & movies and spending time with friends.
Also known as “spending money we should be saving for daycare,” but hey – you snooze, you lose, Fetus!
Highlights of the weekend included:
- Spending a gift card at a store that was not Babies ‘r’ Us, where I purchased very yummy fancy perfume that did not smell anything like baby powder/wipes/diapers.
- Going to a play during which I started to have extremely strong cramping in my lower back; thinking I was maybe going into labor; freaking out for approximately 5 minutes before everything came to a total halt; feeling like jackass for freaking out over what was probably my lower back’s reaction to a crappy theatre seat.
- Answering frantic phone calls from my mother, who is thoroughly convinced that a lack of communication from me = I have had a baby, raised it, and am putting it through law school and have neglected to inform her.
- Watching husband go insane with pent-up energy; sitting on couch while he dusted and vacuumed nursery for 3,498th time.
- Going to dinner and a movie with friends, since ladyparts were clearly not going to put on a show of their own.
- Getting FAR too much enjoyment out of the story about the Sham-Wow guy going to prison.
Going to make some lucky guy a wonderful, highly-absorbent girlfriend.
I also made a resolution to never, EVER say any of the following things to a pregnant person/pregnant person’s spouse or partner:
- “Get some sleep while you can!” Sleep? WHAT?! Why didn’t someone tell me this sooner? I’ve been forcing myself to stay awake for the past nine months! LOOK: I GET IT – the baby is going to keep me awake. A lot. I KNOW. I HAVE WATCHED SITCOMS. But this will make me tired NO MATTER HOW MUCH SLEEP I GET NOW, so please shut up before I find it necessary to punch you in the throat.
- “Enjoy going to movies/eating at restaurants/taking showers/brushing your hair/forming coherent thoughts/remembering your name/breathing oxygen/metabolizing food/existing on a physical plane of being while it lasts!!!” Yes, I am quite aware that caring for a baby might cut into my bar-hopping time on the French Riviera, but please STOP WITH THE DRAMATICS about how I will never wear hard shoes or see the exterior of my house again, because BITCH PLEASE I know for a fact that life does not cease forever when one has a child, but it MAY cease forever if you yammer shit like this to me again (Can you tell I am dealing with a repeat-offender of these types of comments at work? Haaaaaaaate).
- “Once she gets here, your life will never be the same.” (Not the happy, smiley version of this comment, but the kind that is accompanied by a dead stare and possibly an echo for dramatic effect.) I am continually amazed by people who seem to think that I went and got myself pregnant (with a BABY, even!) without having any earthly concept of how the addition of AN INFANT INTO MY HOUSEHOLD might, you know, change things. They do know I’m over 30 years old, right? And that I understand I can’t leave the baby home alone on the weekends with the cat? I cannot help but think that these people want me to react to such comments by falling to the floor in a heap of sobs and begging them to take this curse of a child from me. Maybe I’ll try that next time, just to see what happens.
Wow (or should I say “Sham-Wow?” I think I should), I’m a bit cranky today, aren’t I? Well, shit. If you can’t be a little irritable when you’re 9 months pregnant, when can you be? And I really am enjoying these last days of pregnancy, despite the physical discomfort (my bladder is not a trampoline, kid) and raging hatred of my wardrobe (I am actually looking forward to wearing a hospital gown), because this is the last time I’ll ever get to savor those wonderful daydreams about what the baby will look like, what she’ll sound like, and how long it will take me to clean up after I see Brad holding her and my heart completely explodes.
That being said: GET OUT. Before I start charging rent.
Entry filed under: And you KNOW THIS!.