****WARNING: I’m closing comments on the Baby Birthday Guessing on Thursday at 7 pm CST. So get your guess in!*****
I had a glorious unmedicated week. I reveled in being able to wipe down the countertops or remembering to change out the kitchen towels. I realized just how bad I felt before and gave up all the guilt I felt about all the things I couldn’t do for 18 weeks. Now I know why: Because I was DRUGGED out of my mind.
But I’m not drugged any more. My baby is healthy, contractions are welcome, and I can take care of my people. I’m not saying I rearranged closets or anything last week, but I helped meet needs and it felt good.
Today we reached 37 weeks. Overall, I’m feeling fairly comfortable for my girth. Sure, I waddle, my back hurts, and I have to pee every time I bend over, but I’d say I’m pretty content. I’m feeling so blessed and happy to be able to enjoy these last moments of pregnancy.
If you ask me if I’m ready for the baby to come, I’ll tell you I’m ready to meet my baby, but I’m okay if he wants to cook longer. I’m not anxious or desperate.
Not yet anyway…
Which leads me to this: I may feel pretty good for the third trimester, but I’m still IN the third trimester. You know that creepy-crawly feeling you get where you just want to peel off your skin?
All my clothes feel too tight, they itch, I hate all those maternity panels, my pants are too small or they won’t stay up, my shirts don’t cover my belly…
So this is how my kids are accustomed to see me waddling around the house now:
I finally admitted defeat and did what every pregnant woman hates to do but we all end up doing anyway: buying one or two new shirts for just those last few weeks.
Andrew took me to Target. I waddled with purpose back to the maternity section and began pulling shirts on and off hangers and on and off my body like a mad woman. “No, this is too itchy, this bunches up, this makes my arms feel like they’re suffocating…”
While I ranted and raved like a lunatic, Andrew held my purse and artfully dodged the shirts and comments I threw in his direction. ”Oooo, this fabric feels good. Can I just wear this out of the store? What do you think of this color? Does this make me look fat?”
He began to grin. “Ah. There it is.”
“The End of the Road Crazy Woman I remember.”
He bent over and patted my belly fondly. “Finnley? Your mother is about to hit THE Wall. Your eviction notice is coming, man. Get ready.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes and went on stretching and pulling. But I suspect he is right. The end is near, folks. I’m gonna try and savor it before I lose my mind.
Or get arrested for indecent exposure…