Last night I slept for about five hours. It was my first night of discomfort from having a growing baby in my belly (so I guess I should say that I’ve been pretty blessed). First he got the hiccups. Then he got annoyed by his hiccups and started thrashing. Then he just wouldn’t settle down. I slept from midnight to 5:00 am (we went to bed at 10:00). I was COMPLETELY awake at 5:00 am. I laid there and listened to Fiona breath, then lick her cone, scratch at her cone, then breath some more. The previous night, the area on F’s jaw where Phantom Snake rocked our (my) world leaked a big puddle onto a pillow. It used to be filled with very hard, solid gunk, which gave-way to soft, gooey gunk. I compare it to a blister that gets so full that the slightest bit of pressure and splat! The spot doesn’t seem hurt her, I think it’s just itchy and annoying. I mean, how would YOU like it if you had a bump the size of a walnut on your cheek? Oh, and you weigh 10 pounds, so that walnut is ginormous in comparison to you. Anyway, I got up to check if she was leaking again (like a stupid blister, it filled back-up some). And then I had to pee. And by now Josh is getting restless and thrashing to get comfortable again. I manage to fall back asleep until the alarm clock blasts a song that goes, “PUT ME OUT OF MY MISSSERRRYYYY” at 6:00 am. How appropriate.
I am officially very pregnant because I go to the doctor every two weeks now. I have an appointment this Friday, and I find myself thinking, “Wait, I just had one of these.” Five weeks from now, I go to ONCE A WEEK. Oh, and around that time Doc will be sticking his arm up my who-ha. So psyched.
Did you know what women usually gain a pound a week in the last trimester (about half of which is baby putting on that adorable chub)? I haven’t discussed this in blogverse yet, but I’ve packed-on some poundage. I was five pounds over my usual when I got pregnant (stupid holidays), and then it was busy season (hello eating, sympathy/stress eating, no time to exercise, and more general eating). I’ve stopped looking at the scale, and I’ve requested that Mr. H not look; however, he deliberately disobeys each time, and then I end-up asking him about the damage anyway. As of my last appointment, I’d gained 33 pounds. I’ve never seen the scale so high in my life. I’m 20 pounds heavier than I’ve ever been. I know, I’m PREGNANT. It’s still alarming to see the numbers. So, if you figure-out a pound a week for 13(ish) weeks… I cry.
It seems like it took forever for my uterus to finally pass the height of my belly button, but now it’s flown past it. It won’t be long now until L Bean is sticking his feet in my ribs. He's already trying to stick an arm out of me for ventilation.
I have a faint linea negra forming below my belly button. I first noticed it a couple weeks ago. No stretch marks (PLEASE stay that way). My belly button is still hanging tough as an inny, but I’m not sure how much longer it can hold-out. It looks like the timer could pop any day now.
I was in the kitchen at work getting coffee this morning (yes, I drink a cup of coffee a day. Yes, it is allowed. No, I don’t care what you have to say about it), when someone asked, “When is the big day?” To which I reply, “Mid-September.” I usually don’t tell work people September 14th because that’s the day before a big deadline, and I still feel a little guilty about it. He replies, “Hmmm, September, huh? I don’t knoooow. I’m not sure you’re going to make it that far!” Okay, what does that MEAN? Does my belly really look THAT big? I assure you that it’s not. I have serious belly envy of the women in my birth class. We’re all around the same due date, and they’re bellies would whoop my belly in a fist fight. Are you referring to my shelf of a butt or my luscious thighs? If so they don’t appreciate being talked about as if they’re not in the room.
If I hear, “I bet you’re LOVING this heat!” or “I bet you’re just DYING in this heat!” or “I bet you’re just MISERABLE in this heat!” one more time, heads are going to roll.
Funny story: At the beginning of my pregnancy, my mom told me about the benefits of rubbing something rough on your nipples to shape-them-up for the abuse they’ll take. A rough terry cloth towel will due. She did this and had no discomfort breast feeding. Her friends did not do this and were miserable (I’m paraphrasing here). She calls me a few weeks ago and leaves this message on my cell phone: Have you been rubbing something rough on your niiiipples?!?! Something about it really will help. Love you, talk to you later, bye. I just about peed myself. Aren’t moms the best?