Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Week 39 update:

You're still in there!  The dorky websites say you're the size of a watermelon, and for once, I believe them.  A smallish, roundish, not so ovalish watermelon, but melon nonetheless - except with arms and feet that insist on pummeling my insides - love you!  According to the doc, you're going to bake at least another week - no progress this time.  Fine by me!  Hang out all you want!  Crazy hormones talking here, but I feel like you're so much safer securely trapped on the inside that I'd rather you just continue your stint as internal wombmate for, you know, ever.  But that's crazy and you gotta get out and your dad really wants to meet you, so fine.  We'll do this thing the normal way, I suppose.

In the meantime, can I bitch a little bit?  Being pregnant is great and all that crap, except not really.  I mean, fine, it's ok and I'm super lucky to have experienced this and all that stuff (and I really mean that), but damn, I don't like how cranky and grouchy I've become because of feeling so physically blech.  My hips have essentially decided to not hold up the rest of my body any longer.  I've not gained any weight in the last few weeks (but assume there's been substantial shifting as the belly area has definitely grown, so fat is being redirected from somewhere, hopefully my thighs, please be my thighs) so it shouldn't be that, but dang if I can't get up.  Or sit down.  Or do anything without wincing like I've got a butt full of hemorrhoids.  Oh wait.  No, not yet, but I'm sure it's around the corner - I think it's last on the list of crappy pregnancy experiences.  In any case, I've really tried to pre-pamper this kid as much as possible by at least trying to provide for his basic needs at reasonable prices, but dude.  Help a mama out.  There should be a shower for moms to be where they give you a hair cut, a wax, a pedicure and prop you up (because your hips won't work) in front of a fun house mirror that makes you look unlike the bloated milk machine that you are and obscures your chins. 

Ok, back to being grateful that so far I'm suffering pretty well through this thing that a bajillion women have done selflessly (except for me) for thousands of years and that still nameless baby boy is right on track and healthy as can be.

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