30 weeks, 3 days
If I could choose a soundtrack for my life right now, it would be some kind of mash-up between Chariots of Fire and one of those sad tuba bass lines: inspiring yet depressing and kind of hard to watch. You know that episode of Family Guy when Stewie follows big folks around playing a sousaphone? Yeah, that’s where I’m going with this. If any of my musically-inclined arranger friends could whip that up and send it to me, I’d be much obliged. It would make all of my eleventy-billion daily trips to the bathroom that much more amusing.
Interestingly, my belly button has yet to pop out. I’m beginning to wonder if I was blessed with a built-in pregnancy turkey-timer of sorts…which would actually be pretty awesome. If that’s the case, sucks to be a gal with an outtie. More likely that I was blessed with the world’s most cavernous navel but let a girl dream, huh? Further bulletins as events warrant on that front. (GUYS. SEE WHAT I DID THERE?!)
Anyway, I am heartened that I’m closing in on the finish line and I’m giddily imaging what it will be like to have my bladder under my complete control once again. I will relish bending over to pick up a fallen dish towel without grunting, climbing the stairs without getting winded and being free of the constant battle against stomach acid burning my esophagus. I will allow the bottle of Tums to grow dusty in the closet and bury the maternity pants in a Rubbermaid tomb in the crypt that is our basement. I will drink a beer and eat brie and savor every brewed, unpasteurized, DELICIOUS morsel. No longer will I feel like an elephant seal come ashore; lumpy, grumpy, and locomotively impaired.
I will love mothering, of that I am positive. It will be hard and I will probably gripe about it, though I expect it to be with less sarcasm and apathy and more genuine concern and good intentions for the baby. I will continue, as I have mentioned in past posts, to be as honest and frank as I have tried to be in the past since I see no purpose on sugar-coating anything but a good cookie.
Speaking of cookies, I discovered recently that Baby Kelly is not a fan of peppermint in the slightest…rude. …Does anyone want 2.5 dozen dark chocolate-dipped peppermint spritz cookies? Free to good home. Don’t they look nommy?
Well guys, my pelvis is sore from standing too much (I never learn, even at 30 weeks pregnant) but I am satisfied to report that all of my Christmas prepping tasks are complete. I think I’ll spend today in my jams watching nerdy/historical/scientific TV, soaking my swollen/swelling feet and perhaps sipping the chai latte (aka: elixir of the gods) that I will now beg TJ to go get for me.
I sincerely hope that you have a wonderful holiday, my friends! Please have a goblet of wine, a mug of beer, a flute of bubbly or all of the above for me as you celebrate. Be safe and merry!