>No, no. I’m not jumping the gun. I am fully aware that there are several weeks left in which to carry/incubate/lug heavily this child before she makes her grand entrance into the world. However, I feel like the art of celebrating small mile stones has been lost, and it may be solely up to me in order to reclaim it. I have officially entered the 30 week bench mark, and there is no turning back. I only have a few, short weeks left of having the unique experience of another creature using my bladder as her pillow and since I haven’t been terribly faithful in documenting this momentous occasion, I will do my best to explain briefly what life at 30 weeks pregnant looks and feels like for this soon to be Mama.
1. Naps are my best friend, though, I’m sure the relationship is purely one sided. I take advantage of them. Abuse them, even. And still, they are always there- albeit, at different times of the day-patiently waiting.
2. Naps are so necessary because sleeping at night has proven to be a laughable suggestion, let alone practice. My back aches when I lie on my side, but my lungs are crushed if I lie on my back. And if I do manage to get comfortable enough to close my eyes, I’m assaulted by a barrage of: ” Oh my gosh I have to get curtain rods for the nursery!”and, “Will this kid ever stop moving? She stopped! Is she ok?” and, “What the hell am I going to do if I go into labor while Rich is at work? LABOR?!?!?!” AHHHHH. And the anxiety commences.
3. There are now, two men in my bed. My husband, of course, and the newest addition, Howard. Howard is the name we gave the body pillow purchased to assist in sleeping, but just manages to create a giant Berlin-wall sized obstacle down the center of the bed and provide a soft place to rest my sleepless head. I’m hoping in the near future to see Rich again at some point.
4. I waddle. Like a penguin. Or one who’s been out riding all day. Or like a bow-legged old man. Or a duck. Choose a comparison. None of them are entirely encompass the fact that waddling is both uncomfortable and unattractive.
5. There are some women who display their stretch marks proudly, proclaiming them to be a visible sign of their entrance into motherhood. There are others who wail and bemoan the despicable, pink lines and invest an obscene amount of money in over-the-counter topical remedies that falsely promise radical results in 3 weeks or less. I fall somewhere in the middle, on any given day. Or hour. I’m not a fan. I don’t think they represent anything other than the fact that my hips, apparently, actually did get wider. I thought that was impossible. But I’m not going to cry about how I’ll never look good in a bikini again. Not today, anyway.
6. I’m so stoked to be over the 6 month long, ” Will I or won’t I puke today?” phase, that I almost don’t mind the back pain.
7. My girl seems to have inherited the most dominant trait of both of her parents. She dances when her Daddy sings to her, and snuggles as close to the surface as possible when Mama plays the piano. She’s a musician. I knew she would be. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited about that.
8. I have kindly advised my doctor to stop informing me how much weight I’ve gained. My blood pressure’s great. I tested negatively for gestational diabetes. All other signs point to a healthy pregnancy and a healthy daughter. So, with all due respect, shut up. I am very much aware that the amount of weight I gain, I must lose after the baby’s born. You needn’t remind me. Even after weeks of abstaining from anything remotely white sugared or floured, I still gained. I’m over it. Thank you, have a nice day. And when all is said and done, and I have a healthy child instead of a bad back that keeps me up at night, eventually I will fit into my favorite black skirt again. Until then, talk to me about the appropriate weight window again and I can’t promise to behave like a sane human being.
9. I, officially, have 5 weeks remaining of going to work. That makes me smile. And makes me nervous. All at the same time. I’m told I should get used to that.
10. Ellie’s no longer a distant thought but an actual, close reality. She’s not a fetus, she’s a person. A person that might have my eyes, or Rich’s chin- and hopefully my sister’s build and my sister-in-law’s nose. She’s going to sleep in the room her Daddy painted green before we knew she was a girl. She’ll eat breakfast at the table that’s often covered with mail and toast crumbs. She’s going to try to put her fingers in sockets and push the basement door open and eat inedible objects and she’s going to be ours. And make us a family. The Shannon family. And she better hurry up.