Thank the good Lord for long weekends. Due to my inability to do math, I ended up having another holiday to burn before my leave so I got to celebrate by taking Friday off. And it was so good. When I tell you that I did all of the housework you should probably believe me. It was like full throttle nesting, over four crazy days. Not to brag, but I decimated my to-do list. And then I decimated my laundry room and its layers of drywall dust that have been there since September. In my defense, our basement renovation wrapped up about five seconds before I found out I was pregnant, got the sickness, and then slept until Christmas. Then there were other things to do aside from clean a laundry room, such as everything. Cleaning laundry rooms is like a bonus job when all the other jobs are done. Which is why I spent yesterday doing just that. Because I’m insane and reorganizing my kitchen is way more bending than necessary.
I got foundation on a brand new white shirt this weekend.
Rather, my belly did. It was a dark moment for me. I’ve never been able to get
foundation out of clothing before. I did everything I could possibly think of
and then looked to Pinterest for help. I sprayed stain remover, used shaving
cream, washed it, used other shaving cream, sprayed stain remover, scrubbed in
baking soda, used blue Dawn dish soap, sprayed stain remover, scrubbed more
baking soda, washed it again, and then sun bleached that bad boy for hours. It
was a 48 hour process and I would say I was 99% successful, but I’ll need to go
back for another inspection just to be sure. And now I have to wait for a good
time to wear it because it’s too casual for the office. Go figure.
So, in case you were wondering, being full-term pregnant (17
days until my due date!) makes you a bona fide sociopath that finds all her joy
in housework. Seriously, poor Karl. I told him Monday was going to be a day of
rest but then it was sunny out and I found a new muffin recipe and he needed a
haircut and we didn’t do a great job organizing baby clothes the first time
around so let’s go through them all again and then set up the baby swing and
reorganize the laundry room. Yay! Yay! Yay! He may have gone to hide in the
garage for an hour.
One of my co-workers went to the promised land (WEST COAST) this
weekend and she brought me back a vegan apple fritter. I don’t care that it was
three days old, it was like heaven in my mouth. And then I went to the doctor
and he asked if I’d gone on a diet because I didn’t gain any weight in the last
week and I almost laughed in his face. Four days of house cleaning and a stale
apple fritter for breakfast do not equal a diet, but maybe in the realm of “I
can’t walk anywhere because I’ll need to pee in five seconds so I should
probably just eat cookies” they do. I’m going to lay off the excessive
housework this week (maybe) and try to eat more cinnamon buns so that my doctor
doesn’t worry at next week’s appointment. I just want to be the best mom I can
Can we stop talking about food now? I’m suddenly craving cinnamon
buns and have a need to try a new recipe. Actually, I have a need to bake all
the things to put in my freezer/belly so that I can be prepped and ready for
baby D-Day. Not that I’m not ready right now. I mean, I’m kind of ready. Can
you ever be truly “ready”? I say let’s go and have this darn baby and move
forward with our lives. Except maybe we should wait until the weekend’s over
because it’s our last weekend together just the two of us forever and ever
amen. The weekend after marks the beginning of a long train of visitors, which
we’re super excited for, but it means if we don’t go for dinner just the two of
us this weekend goodness knows when we’ll get a chance to ever again. And that’s
a little terrifying.
We’re also binge watching Friday Night Lights (like the rest
of everybody ever) trying to finish it before we can’t. Why is that show so good?
I don’t even like football! The only thing I understand is a touchdown, and
apparently there are things that look like touchdowns but aren’t. That just
blew my mind.
And now I’m going to go feel sorry myself with my spreading
hips and aching ribs and stiff back and decimated bladder. Just kidding, I’m
going to drink some raspberry leaf tea and will my baby to fall out of my
uterus. Just not today, because it’s Karl’s parents’ birthdays/anniversary and that
would be way too much for one day to handle. It would cause a tear in the space-time
continuum that no amount of baby snuggles could repair. But the chocolate cake
I’m currently ruminating on might. With extra icing, the way God intended. I
need to eat some carrot sticks.