I am 39 1/2 weeks pregnant. I know there are many women who go over their due dates by a week or even two, and bless those brave souls because if I go one day past my due date I am going to scream.
I really mean it when I say that my pregnancy wasn’t bad. I had a pretty good time, light nausea in the first trimester, great energy in the second, and I am still able to get up off the couch on my own in the third. Let’s talk about these last few days, though.
That magical feeling in the beginning? It’s been replaced.
Here are just a few things that have been happening:
- My hormones are performing Cirque du Soleil acts within my body.
My hormones like to rage in the early morning, from about the time I wake up until 11:30. This is not a good time to bring up bills, appointments, life-long goals, or tasks that may need to be done that day. This is the time to tell me I am beautiful and talented and perhaps shove some eggs in my face so I don’t speak.
This morning, my sweet husband did nothing wrong. He only brought up the idea of maybe throwing out a gallon of milk we have in the fridge. He didn’t know.
This topic has come up before this week and I have not relented: The milk stays.
The gallon of milk is important to me because, first of all, it’s a gallon, and that’s a lot of milk to waste. Second of all, and the main point I like to extend during this discussion, is that the milk ISN’T BAD. I understand all of the reasons for this in my head and I’m not going to write them down here because, frankly, I’d like to be thought of as a sane person after I have this baby. But, this milk has become my passion project, and especially in the mornings, it seems really important that it’s not thrown out. Like, incredibly important.
Here is an actual transcript of this morning’s “conversation.”
Husband: I’m going to throw out the milk. Smell the top of the container! (Extends arm so I can smell it myself)
Uncomfortable pause from me.
Me: (Psychotically calm voice) If you throw out that milk, I’m leaving you.
My husband still bravely calls me in the afternoon to see how I’m doing.
2. My underwear is now my enemy.
Gaining weight is super fun for a woman, especially when you run out of clothes to wear!
I have one pair of underwear that are really comfortable. They are cotton and worn-in and stretchy and just wonderful. I would love 576 more of these.
Buy more, you say? It’s been done. And they are now strangling my lower hips. It feels like I have become The Incredible Hulk without the power to rip my clothes to shreds. Hanes cannot contain this girth. I am seriously considering loin cloth.
3. Fear has caught up with optimism.
I am a child. I am a child having a child. I still laugh at fart jokes and buy Doritos instead of salad sometimes. I am about to push an 8 pound human out of a very small space and then it will depend on my for its LIFE. What the hell was I thinking?
4. Pinterest, Mom blogs, and pregnancy apps are NOT my friends anymore.
Don’t email me 5 things I need to know about packing my hospital bag. Do not tell me I need a tri-pod to bring to the delivery room. Don’t talk to me about my watermelon sized baby and how I might be getting heartburn these last few weeks (might?!). For the love of God do NOT TELL ME why I absolutely need to have the new book by the latest celebrity mother.
What was once welcome information has turned into an assault on my intuition. Also please don’t tell me horror stories about deliveries, breast feeding, sleeping and things of the sort. I’m sure I will have my own nightmares to experience. I don’t need to read about them at just this second.
I know this will change because I usually love Pinterest. I am also a blogger, so naturally I love reading blogs. Just leave me alone right now, ok?
5. Optimism usually wins the race.
Here are a few tips (mostly for myself) to not drown in fear itself just days before your baby arrives:
Go into the nursery (or whatever space you’ve carved out for your little one) and pick up the tiny clothes you have for them. Unbutton or unzip the jackets and the onesies. Sort them, smell them, pretend there’s a baby in them. They look like doll clothes but they’re for a person! That you’ve grown!
My son’s room smells like the baby detergent I’ve been using to clean his little clothes before he comes home, so it already smells like baby in there. It’s intoxicating in a motherly way.
If you have a noise machine, turn that shit on and sit in a chair (I have a glider right beside the changing table). This is what the room is going to sound like when your baby is sleeping.
The day is coming. It will be wonderful. Hormones are horribe, nasty, and powerful creatures. I know this, deep in my soul. Just be careful of the mornings…