|Trying to escape via land kayak. Best of luck.|
Please hold J.J. and Rowan in your thoughts as we navigate these tumultuous times. Recent infractions on their parts have included: putting a dirty glass on the counter instead of in the dishwasher; moving the hand soap to the (clearly wrong) side of the sink; wanting to cuddle with an inflated helium balloon during nap; heating up the worst-smelling sauce EVER on some chicken & quinoa; leaving tiny stupid Shopkins on the polka-dot rug where they blend in and then stab my foot; wanting another Band-Aid for another nonexistent boo-boo; and distributing forms into the wrong tote bags when filling in for me as the parent volunteer at preschool. Doesn't matter which of them committed which crime; my responses were all equally - um - whatever the word is that I'm trying to think of but that won't come because pregnancy brain fog has descended and words are hard now.
|Poor, poor souls|
I actually had planned to write up a lovely post this lovely afternoon about our lovely babymoon vacation to lovely Naples, a post full of lovely pictures and lovely memories and lovely gratitude. But no. The bitchiness is pouring out. You guys. I'm only 35 weeks along. I could potentially have TWO MONTHS of this left, if I leave my body and the baby to their own devices. Oh, in case you're wondering, in terms of a birth plan? I'm currently vacillating among the following options:
(1) a planned c-section at 39 weeks (June 2nd)
(2) a vaginal delivery anytime between now and, you know, June FREAKING 23rd, which would be two weeks past my due date
(3) a home c-section performed this afternoon by me because screw this
(4) a spontaneous bellybutton birth
The bellybutton birth is an option I was unaware of until this pregnancy, when my sweet fetus decided to lodge himself firmly against the interior of my belly skin. Rowan was a lot more...internal? I don't know; I just definitely never looked down in horror and wondered if she was going to LITERALLY bust through my bellybutton. I spent last night on my back on the couch with an ice pack over my bellybutton (the special ice pack I got after my boob biopsy, which I also meant to write a post about), trying to convince an unborn child to calm down already and retreat back inside. It sort of worked, or at least I fell asleep after awhile and was no longer aware of the pain.
It's possible I overdid it yesterday, contributing to my intense discomfort all evening. I went for a walk Sunday morning (while J.J. and Rowan were at a 5k Fun Run that was, in part, benefitting my nephew, and so I felt like a guilty crap aunt for not being there, especially when I then felt motivated enough around 11 a.m. to take a walk). The walk felt so good that I ended up jogging about a half mile of it. I do not advise a random jog when you're nearly nine months pregnant and have not jogged in...nearly nine months. Especially when you then have to volunteer at (another) Fun Run until 6 p.m. - AKA, be on your feet and active for the rest of the day. It was not my smartest move, hence the couch and the ice pack and the whining. Oh, and the exhaustion, which led to the bitchiness, which led to the intense guilt, which led to the overcompensating, which was cut short when I couldn't even get my shoes on, which led to the hormonal tears.
(Please feel free to print this post and distribute it as birth control for the masses.)
Anyway. I don't even really have anything of value to say right now, except that I forgot about this stage of pregnancy - the last month, where I'm just. over. it. Props to the designer(s) behind pregnancy for structuring it like this so that by the time labor and delivery roll around, I'll be ready to extract the baby by any means necessary. I'm thrilled that he's been in there cooking long enough that everything should be about ready to go by now - just adding some fat layers to both of us at this point, but the major structures and functions should be in order. We're damn lucky to have gotten to this point. And even though the next stage is the stage I've been dreading...the newborn/postpartum recovery stage, which was my hardest time with Rowan...I just want to not have someone's knee knocking my snacks off my belly shelf from the inside anymore. #rude. Also I want to be able to eat snacks without feeling full after two crackers because my stomach has been relocated to somewhere in my ribs.
It's now three o'clock and I haven't woken Rowan up from her nap yet, which means I just doomed us to a night where she won't go to sleep before ten o'clock, because did you know she's officially not really needing naps anymore? Because the best time to grow out of naps is right before your baby sibling arrives? Hmm, let's see, can I find anything ELSE to complain about before this post ends?!
|We're pretty much either in "exchanging flowers|
and squeezy hugs" mode or "exchanging hateful
words that we both instantly regret" mode lately.
No. No more complaining. Time to just end it (uh, the post, I mean). Here, have some photos of a baby plotting to escape via bellybutton. The first one was taken in Florida at 32 weeks, 5 days, and I promise I'll share a much happier post about that amazing trip soon. You know...right after this wave of cray-cray passes. So like March of 2018-ish.