Our time "together" is almost over. From a flutter to a real moving-around person inside my belly, I can't believe this is going to happen soon. I'm actually getting excited, as being pregnant at this stage is uncomfortable, both in the physical sense of having an 8 lb. human squirming under my skin, and also that I'm fairly claustrophobic myself and am having a hard time thinking about you in there without feeling a little unhinged and anxious. It's soon time to come out. I just wish you'd be as portable, quiet, and low-maintenance out here as you have been in there. Not counting on it.
Love, (OH MY GOD I can't believe I'm writing the next word)
Mom
Overdue
I heard the story of a girl whose baby was well past the due date and she practically went feral with white hot rage. I think that might happen if we get too far past the mid-20s on the calendar. I also wonder if it would be fair to charge late fees on the baby if she doesn't come on time. The library standard is 25 cents per day, I'm thinking more like $25,000 per day assessed at the time she's ready to start begging for a new car when she turns 16 or decides that backpacking across Asia should be financed by Bank of Daddy. And if she's early or on time? Well, that's just good manners.
Topping out
The doctor says he thinks I've reached my peak weight since I haven't gained any more over the past 10 days. After nine months of carefully eating everything in sight and insisting on dessert nightly, I would like to set aside this space to sincerely thank some "special" folks for my genetic gifts of high energy, extreme metabolism, and borderline hyperactivity: the Hunt family.
What we lack in refinement, social niceties, and tact, we make up for in producing some hot (even while pregnant!) ass.
Drugs and advice
I don't mind advice about this kid business. Many women I've talked to complain about all of the unsolicited thoughts from friends and family about birth, feeding, sleeping, discipline, but I like to see and hear about what others are up to. The truth is: I'm going to do what I want, but I'm happy to take your well-intentioned advice into consideration.
The big question: will I get the epidural. Truth: depends. I am guessing that I will be such a bitch that someone is bound to tie me down and drug me at some point. Dan has been hiding under the covers reading books about anesthesiology.
Recent horrors
- Pooping my pants (well, a complex story, but this isn't far from the truth)
- Breaking down crying at lunch in the hospital cafeteria on the day of childbirth class (why did she pass around the giant steel salad tongs?)
- I think I saw a prostitute yesterday. Unrelated to being pregnant, yes, but a Goldboro prostitute is definitely a horror. Hot pink, skin-tight, tube-top body suit and no pants on a 5' 10" "curvy" women wearing pink stilettos walking down William Street? Yes. Not sure how business is at 3 pm, though.
Dan is a passive member of the Facebook community, so I am not too worried about a minute-by-minute live feed of my life on the social sphere. We have an agreement that all delivery room photos that may include any part of my bare skin be pre-approved by me before any posting takes place.
This brings me to over-posting in general. My co-pregnant friend and I were complaining about the number and frequency of slimy newborns, ultrasound pics and the even-creepier 3D ultrasound pics on the newsfeed. The 3D version has always reminded me of that scene from Robocop where the dude is melting from an acid bath right before the car hits him and he splatters. Ugh. No thanks.
Me: "I also think its gross when people post a pic of the positive pregnancy test. That's a photo of pee."
Her: "What's next, a photo of the broken condom?"
Ha! Love.
