girlfiend

I can’t quite manage to get to water aerobics on time. It’s a 7 pm class which usually means I’m making and eating dinner beforehand and then I get stuck in weird neighborhood traffic on the mile and half drive to the Y. I’m never very late. Usually just a few minutes, but I’m late enough that when I open the door to the pool from the locker room everyone turns, looks at me waddling in, and laughs. Last night the laughter was uproarious. I must look pretty damn funny in a bathing suit. Ha ha ha. Go ahead. Mock the pregnant woman.

The house is pretty well organized. I’ve been doing my best to keep things picked up and in their proper places so it won’t be too much of a mess when I actually go into labor. Things have been dusted in the past week and I’ve been vacuuming fairly regularly. The kitchen is cleaned daily so that’s not an issue and I’ve been on top of the laundry. The bathroom, while certainly not as clean as I’d like, is clean enough to not be too much of an embarrassment. My bedroom is a wreck, but I blame that on Boyfiend since all of his clean, folded laundry is sitting on top of an old trunk we moved out of the storage room upstairs. If he’d put his shit away (just a subtle hint) it wouldn’t look quite so bad in there.

I really need a cleaning service. It would really improve the quality of my life. Instead of hiring a service I ordered another dyson.

I’ve been cooking like crazy so I won’t have to worry about eating well later.  I’ve made a bunch of dinners and some one-handed breakfasts. In the freezer I have:

• 1 9”x 13” pan of eggplant parmesan
• 3/4 of a large baked ziti in three portions
• 2 8-cup containers vegetable soup
• 1 3-quart and 1 4-cup container of beef stew
• 1 9″x13″ pan of rotini with goat cheese, spinach and red pepper sauce divided into individual servings
• 6 bean and sausage enchiladas (1 dinner and leftovers if Boyfiend doesn’t gorge himself)
• 1 tray (3 meals) chicken enchiladas
• 2 8-cup containers of chicken soup
• half a batch of chocolate chip cookie dough
• 6 cranberry muffins
• 6 strawberry mango muffins
• 18 blueberry pancakes

I’ve also got a bunch of chocolate ricotta muffins I baked tonight that still need to be wrapped and frozen. Tomorrow or Friday I’ll probably end up baking a few loaves of zucchini bread with the last of my freezer stash from last year’s CSA.

The next meat delivery from the farm is scheduled for my due date and I ordered plenty of beef so Boyfiend could cook dinner (burgers and steaks, of course) with confidence. Shortly after my due date is the start of my CSA for the summer,  so I won’t have to worry too much about grocery shopping for a while.

Now I just want this baby out.

After my ranting about Boyfiend spending too much time on his boat and not enough time on the Fiendling’s new bedroom Boyfiend actually made things worse. Last Saturday he put his boat in the water. He got up in the morning and his brother came over to help him get things set up. Passover dinner at my aunt’s house was scheduled for five. I told Boyfiend I needed him home by four. He agreed.

My morning was fine, but walking takes a toll these days. I was looking forward to nap time. Of course the Fiendling didn’t nap for more than fifteen minutes and woke up miserable, clingy and angry to be awake. I thought I was going to lose my mind. In tears I called Boyfiend to remind him that I really NEEDED him to be home on time. He said he wouldn’t be home by four, but he’d be home by four-thirty. That did not please me. When he wasn’t home by five I got the Fiendling and myself dressed and in the car and left without him. I was furious.

Then he made things up to me. The Fiendling spent last night in his new bedroom- a full 24 hours earlier than originally promised. I doubted him, but Boyfiend came through working until ten o’clock most nights to get the painting finished. The room looks fantastic and with the addition of a train table and a few trains Mix found on the side of the road the Fiendling loves it. After the big unveiling, after yet another day without a nap, the Fiendling spent two hours happily playing in his room by himself while I vacuumed and rearranged things. Then he slept through the night.

The nursery is clean. I washed the gender-neutral newborn clothes, the newborn diaper, and the covers and seat pads for the baby bouncy chair, car seat and swing. The glider is in the upstairs parlor where we spend most of our time and the pack n play where the baby will sleep the first few months is in our room. Nothing is set up in the nursery, but I thought it might be best to leave it empty for a bit, just in case the Fiendling gets it in his head to move back in. I don’t have a bag packed for the hospital, but I did put aside a few nursing tops and pajamas to bring along. Last time I just wore the gown the whole time I was there, but this time since the Fiendling will be there to visit I want to look as normal as possible

I am sick of being pregnant. I don’t remember it being quite so bad last time. I know I was swollen for a lot longer and uncomfortable, but I didn’t have any Braxton Hicks contractions, I could nap daily, and I didn’t have a two-year-old to chase around. My feet hurt, I’m tired all of the time, and all the work I’m doing around the house is exhausting.

Now that I’m ready for the baby I’m sure it will be at least two weeks overdue.

Boyfiend is at the Phillies game. I am having contractions of the Braxton Hicks variety. The Fiendling is screaming for me at his gate. Minutes ago, after the fourth time I went in there, we had a brief conversation that I found very unsatisfying.

Me: You have your trains, your teddy bear and your water. I’ve given you kisses and hugs and cuddles. I’ve rubbed your back and rubbed your forehead. I’ve held your hand and snuggled with you. It is 10.30 at night. It is time to go to sleep.

Fiendling: Don’t want to.

Now he’s yelling, “I’m sad.”

We finished painting one of the rooms upstairs- the former storage room- and set it up. It’s the room without a radiator so it will be the new guest room since we have overnight guests so rarely they don’t need a heated room in the winter. Promptly after setting it up we filled it with crap from the other room. It looked really nice for about five minutes. Now it’s crammed with baby gear, lamps, and assorted boxes of shit we’re half-assedly trying to sell on craigslist. (Speaking of craigslist, anyone want to buy anything?)

We started painting the second room up there- the former guest room that will be the Fiendling’s new bedroom. It’s bigger than the room we painted first and I haven’t had uninterrupted time to work on it. I was able to get all of the primer edging that I needed a ladder for done yesterday, but I still have to prime the fronts and backs of three doors and the moulding before I can start rolling. My dad is coming over tomorrow for a couple of hours which should help, but I don’t think I’ll have enough done so I can prime the walls.

Once I do prime the walls there are at least two coats of paint (the Fiendling alternately requests “geen” and “ahnge.” I think I’m going to have to make the executive decision.) followed by two or three coats of trim paint on the doors or moulding. The trim and moulding was painted a hideous shade of colonial blue so it requires a great deal of effort. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.

We haven’t made quite enough progress for me to feel confident that we’ll be able to move him up there with plenty of time (at least a few weeks) to adjust before the baby is born. (Mrs. T., you are making things worse with your reminders that I could go early. No, I cannot. This baby will be born in mid to late May, no sooner, thank you very much.) Doodlebug took the Fiendling off of my hands a few times last week so I could get some painting done during the day which was awesome, but that was the guest room. Now Boyfiend’s attention has turned to his boat, which he hopes to get into the water this weekend. A weekend that will not be spent painting. He’s still working on the room a little bit, but I hate that we’re losing another entire fucking weekend.

It sucks that I can only really paint during nap time which means between setup and cleanup I’m only getting an hour of painting in a day. By the time the Fiendling’s in bed I’m just too tired and don’t want to risk waking him by moving around too much up there. And I’m starting to swell for real now. My hands and feet hurt from the swelling and even my size larger pregnancy sneakers hurt after a while. Right now I should be up there painting. I’ve rested long enough. Okay. I’m off.

I’ve hit the stage in my pregnancy where I’m painfully aware of my cervix.

There are baby feet in places where I don’t want them most of the day.

My own feet are now growing out of my shoes. They don’t look monstrous yet but, with more than five weeks to go, they will.

People now think I’m “ready to pop.” They seem surprised that I have as long to go as I do. This is interesting because I’m significantly smaller than I was when I was pregnant with the Fiendling.

The Fiendling moved around much more than this kid does. This one likes to find a spot and put a lot of uncomfortable pressure on it.  My bladder is a favorite hangout.

This one doesn’t get the hiccups as much as the Fiendling did. I appreciate that.

A few differences between this pregnancy and the last:

I haven’t gained nearly as much weight. At this point (holy shit, I’m 32 weeks pregnant!) I’ve probably only gained about 20 pounds. By 32 weeks with the Fiendling I was up at least 40.

I’m sooooo tired. Not that I wasn’t tired last time, but this time it’s worse because I can’t nap every afternoon for 2 or 3 hours.
Even though I haven’t gained that much weight I feel enormous and have grown out of most of my maternity clothing. I am in dire need of a pair of maternity jeans and I’m way too cheap to buy a new pair with only 2 months to go. I’m down to one pair of pants that fit well and several pairs of sweatpants that are too long/too low/too tight. I hope it gets warmer out soon so I can start wearing my maternity skirts.

My feet and ankles haven’t really swelled at all yet. I was up a shoe size by 27 weeks last time.

The rest of me hasn’t really swelled either. I’m still wearing my rings and I can take them off and put them back on easily.

I’m not drinking nearly enough water this time. I still pee on average of 4 times an hour and that’s not counting the effects of coughing and sneezing.

Morning sickness lasted forever this time. I was done with morning sickness by 8 or 9 weeks with the Fiendling. With this one it lasted well into the second trimester. I didn’t start feeling human again until the third trimester and by then I started feeling uncomfortable.

Speaking of uncomfortable, I’ve been having Braxton Hicks contractions for weeks, only I’m an idiot and didn’t realize that that was what was going on. I never had them with the Fiendling and they don’t feel like labor contractions so I just assumed it was pressure from the baby. I wondered why I was feeling so much pressure so high up under my rib cage when I can feel that the baby is head down. It was only when I was strapped to the contraction monitor for close to five fucking hours on my birthday that they told me I was having contractions and asked if I felt them. Sure enough, when told what they were, I realized that I’ve been feeling them all along. Clearly I am not in tune with my body. It’s things like this that make me realize that any thoughts of unmedicated childbirth are just stupid.

Did I mention that I’m really, really tired?

After more than three hours of phone calls to Verizon tech support I still don’t have dsl. They managed to screw up everything. Twice. Which is fine for the time being, as we leave for two weeks in the Outer Banks on Saturday. Ah, vacation.

I need a vacation after these past few weeks. Just after writing about my fears, the puking ended rather suddenly, as did the exhaustion. Convinced I was going to miscarry, I made an ultrasound appointment to find out if my pregnancy was still “viable.” Nice way to put it, huh. Well, Junior, as the ultrasoud tech called it, was indeed viable. Boyfiend and I saw the heartbeat and everything. Junior’s about the size of pinto bean and its picture is hanging on the fridge. And now I can just be relieved I’m not puking and exhausted.

I’m in this weird limbo where I wish I didn’t feel like crap, but I’m afraid not to. Last night, at a wedding rehearsal dinner, the mother of the groom was telling me about her pregnancies. She was sick for all nine months of the first, five months of the second, four months of the third, then stopped feeling sick at three months with the fourth pregnancy. She lost the fourth. Same thing with Boyfiend’s aunt, who after three nauseous, puking pregnancies didn’t feel sick for the three babies she miscarried.

So now, the few times throughout the day, when I realize that I don’t feel completely exhausted and nauseous, I start to feel sick from fear and worry. Half the time I can’t figure out if I’m puking because I’m really sick, or if I just feel like I should be puking. And I can’t deny the exhaustion, but besides being pregnant, I’ve been working like crazy, packing and moving and unpacking and cleaning, so how much of the exhaustion is pregnancy-related?

And I can’t fit into any of my pants. You’d think that five pounds wouldn’t make a whole lot of difference, but nothing will button. I’m stuck wearing pants with drawstrings or elastic waist shorts. Or just walking around the house in a t-shirt and underwear. Last night at dinner, I had to unbutton my skirt just so I could breathe. My dresses won’t fit, either, Despite the fact that they’ll fit over my expanding waistline, they won’t fit over my expanding breasts. Boyfiend couldn’t be happier.

Just days before I took pregnancy test number one I was explaining to my therapist that I wasn’t going to get pregnant easily. I was convinced of that for two reasons. One, because I’m an Aries, the least fertile sign in the zodiac, and two, because it took my mother seven years to get pregnant. Obviously I was wrong.

This embryo has taken over my body. I’m exhausted and nauseous all of the time. I was pleased that I was just queasy and not puking until yesterday, at the walk through of our new house, when I found myself doubled over in the backyard. Several hours later, on my way to use the bathroom (as I now have to pee at least 47 times a day), I randomly puked in the sink. Pretty sweet, huh.