In the past week and a half my body has changed. Sleeping is so much more uncomfortable, standing is hard, walking any distance greater than that of the nearest bathroom is basically impossible. When I do end up having to walk anywhere, it's very slowly. Too much speed jostles the baby who is firmly implanted on my bladder. More so than ever before. People with walkers could do laps around me.
My hips have started to ache and it makes getting comfortable in bed really challenging. Then, when I've finally gotten comfortable enough to fall asleep, I'm guaranteed to wake up in the middle of the night. Every time I wake up in the middle of the night I'm guaranteed to be awake for an hour. It was really bad last week. I'd wake up, use the facilities, crawl into bed utterly exhausted, then lay there for an hour while my brain ran a marathon. I would think about work (which has been way more frustrating than I'd like it to be right before I'm off for a year), the baby's room, why I wasn't sleeping, the laundry, the kitchen, my hips, feel the baby roll all around, and freak out about the general state of our house's cleanliness. I would plan all the things that needed to get done over the next couple days and write mental lists with deadlines. It was very stressful.
Then it would be time to get up and I'd be so tired. I went to bed at 9:15 one night and still woke up exhausted. Being this pregnant is no fun, I'm telling you.
I started writing myself little to-do lists that I thought were totally reasonable. Then all of a sudden my body was like, NOPE. I can be about half as productive now as I could a month ago. I just get too tired/sore/emotional otherwise. Last weekend was a hard one.
This week I did better with my to-do lists and basically dominated them. I even enjoyed myself. It helps that I put menial things on there that I'd be doing anyway, like "laundry," and more important things like "don't panic." It's good to have goals. And I can honestly say that when I cross off this week's "don't panic" I'll only be fibbing a little bit.
I took before pictures of every room in our house so that I would have proof for myself that I was productive. Even if that just meant doing the dishes in the kitchen.
Our office (aka overflow guest room) is now cleaner than it's been for months. I like to just stand in the doorway and look at it, basking in the bright cleanliness of it all. It's a beautiful sight to see. The baby's room has a new light fixture, closet doors that aren't 1978 poop brown, and the carpet is on the floor, not in the crib. All that needs to be done is a mobile made and hung, and pictures to be put on the walls. There are even teeny tiny diapers in there.
This upcoming Friday I'll be full term at 37 weeks. I have it in my head that he's going to come before my due date. I know, I'm probably delusional, but I think it's first time mom paranoia. I'm amazed that he's still in there. How have I managed to grow a human inside of me for this long? How has he not gotten sick of me yet and tried to escape?
Knowing that Friday is full term and I'm almost ready is helping the anxiety. We finished our prenatal classes last week and have our hospital tour tomorrow. Once we actually know where we're going I'll be emotionally ready. I may not have a bag packed yet, but my body's tired of pregnancy and we bought a man diaper bag today, so what more could we need?
We had dinner with our neighbours earlier this week. They have two kids, and their son is just a month old. I got to feed him a bottle and get some serious newborn snuggles in. It's hard to believe that in a month I will have my own baby to look after. I had to suppress my urge to give him back every time he fussed because, oh dear, I'm going to have my own to deal with any minute/day/week now and I won't be able to pass him off. It was okay, though, because after he ate and burped and fussed a bit, we got our snuggles on and he only puked on me a little bit. And I totally soothed him. Like a boss.
I didn't always having neighbour kids right next door when I was growing up and I love that our boys are going to be the same age and get into all the trouble together. And by trouble I mean reciting poetry and learning to speak French. Our neighbours also have an awesome play set in their backyard that makes me wish I weighed less than 100 lbs so that I could play on it. We need to build some sort of ladder/zip line from our place to theirs.
And speaking of weighing only 100 lbs, after my co-worker so lovingly pointed out my swollen feet last week, my doctor informed me that he's never seen me look so swollen. So, you know, I'm just getting better looking every day. This is why I think leggings and flip flops count as business casual attire for pregnant ladies.
I also made a trip to the dentist last week. The hygienist commented on how she couldn't believe how much my gums were bleeding and that it was making her hands slippery. I was unapologetic and blamed the baby. If they want to clean super pregnant ladies' teeth they need to live with the consequences. She then commented on how it makes sense, since everything else is really swollen, too. I wish this story ended with me biting her. Let's pretend it does.
And now I'm going to eat waffles.
And now I'm going to eat waffles.