Friday, February 8, 2013

39 weeks and let's just not talk about it, 'kay?

So I have a belly picture, but you know, I have nothing to compare it to, because I did not take a 39 week picture and I did not get to 39 weeks with Katie and so I am not posting it because it's gross and also I am too crabby to even bother.  I at least forced myself to take the picture because I figure maybe one day, I will be happy to have it.  Or maybe one day I will delete all of the belly pictures and wonder what on earth possessed me to take all those pictures of my swollen, misshapen belly?  I really don't know.  I know that I also have a big fat stash of pee stick pictures that I swore I would be happy to have one day and that I referenced ad nauseum when I was trying to get pregnant with Katie, and now I look at them and think, yes.  A faint pink line that gets darker.  And?  But I am also super weird and I don't know, maybe the girls will like those pictures, one day thirty years from now?  They didn't have pee sticks when my mom was pregnant with me so I guess I don't know.  I do know I asked her once how she knew she was pregnant without a peestick and she looked at me like I was impossibly simple and said, "Um.  Because I didn't get my period?" And I was once again extremely, profoundly grateful for pee sticks, because I could make a list of fifty or sixty reasons why I might not get my period and only one of them is being pregnant. 

ANYWAY.  39 weeks pregnant.  Here's the thing: with the exception of one panic-stricken weekend, when I was frantically making sure I was ready just. in. case., I have known all along this baby would come late.  It is just exactly like Gracie and nothing at all like Katie.  Which is to say, irritable, uncomfortable, miserable, bowling ball in the pelvis, creature trying to dig a hole through my right hip, black hole opening in my sacrum...you know.  Walking around with a full-size human in your body.  It is how it is supposed to be.  And so I really should not complain.  This ain't my first rodeo.  I don't really have any excuse to be surprised, and also, I know that in a week or so, shit's about to get REAL, and I'll long for the days when my only problem was severe discomfort.  And yet, I can't seem to stop whining.  Incessantly. 

So while I'm whining?  The INSOMNIA.  Jeebus criminy.  Last night I was awake for two and a half hours.  Why?  Oh, no reason.  Why sleep?  I'll sleep again in two years or so.  Why not lie awake all night, staring at the ceiling?  GRRRBITTER.

Stephen's called February 15th.  I'm calling the 17th.  Or never.  One or the other.

1 comment:

Jessica said...

He's not coming until you pick a name. I vote for James Brown. But I do like Jen's suggestion of James VanDerBeek. Either way, it works.

Also, I say these things in the hopes that annoying you starts labor. And also because I'm a pain in the ass.

(P.S. the captcha asked me to spell out "activia" - which amused me, so I hope it amuses you)