6 weeks away from the arbitrary day in which I may or may not deliver my 2nd baby. (YOU HAVE SIX WEEKS TO GET YOUR CHRISTMAS SHOPPING DONE HOW CRAZY IS THAT?!) Things are getting, as good ol’ Alice, you know, from Wonderland, would say, “Curiouser and curiouser.”
Let me give you a quick Pica update. I still have it.
I did suck on that rock. It was delicious, grainy and, um, rocky just like I expected. I believe I shall indulge in rock sucking more often. And I’ll save the rock in baby girl’s baby memorabilia to show her some day, which may seem super bat-shit crazy to many of you, but it could be worse. I could be the type to save umbilical cords. I think a scab trumps a rock any day on the gross/weird/WTF factor when it comes to saving things to share and embarrass children.
I wish I could say the rock-sucking was enough to satisfy those Pica cravings, but my husband started work on renovating our laundry room this week (tangent alert- if you had a baby due in 6 weeks and a list a mile long of other, IMPORTANT things to accomplish before then, would re-tiling your laundry room be anywhere but at the very bottom?). He started chipping away at tile while I was napping one day and I emerged to find another, mouth-watering pile of mortar and grout chips on the floor. WANTED TO NOM THEM SO HARD. What’s worse? I couldn’t stop thinking about how they probably smelled like laundry soap, which I’ve suddenly found (the smell) as appetizing as fresh Mexican queso. What a magical, fucked up combination!!
Yes, still taking iron. Yes, midwife still aware of situation.
He begins re-grouting tonight, and I’m sure I’ll sit in the hall and gaze at him like he’s cooking up t-bone steaks. But don’t worry, I have a can of frosting at the ready. The frosting, though not at all close the gritty, dirty, rocky taste I crave, is what I imagine to be the same consistency of the grout. <<YES, I know this is all so certifiably insane.
In other news, I now need a bra for my bump. And not a pretty, delicate, lacy bra. It’s the boob bra equivalent to those maximum security breast retractors, complete with heavily padded, 3 inch wide straps. Think Mrs. Doubtfire.
It looks like this
Sexy, no? Really, the combination of me walking around in this, my old, breastmilk-stained sleep bras (because I can’t STAND any of my other bras now) and my husband’s old t-shirts is going to make this our last kid.
Why the need for something so utterly constricting and unflattering? (You should really see the way it lifts and separates my back fat.)
Because it’s *supposed* to help with the pain I feel in my crotch, the pain that feels like I rode a horse for 10 hours. I do not recall ever experiencing this with Kendall. This time, though, anytime I even sit upright for more than 5 minutes, I feel like the bones in my crotch are being ripped in half.
When I was pregnant with Kendall I just got big everywhere. I had a big belly, but I carried him practically in my boobs.. and my thighs… and my butt. It wasn’t cute. Now, I feel like I’m *mostly* all belly, which is great for pictures and TERRIBLE for my comfort level.
Does that give you an idea? I mean, it hangs so low that I can’t even cross my legs when I sit. So that, apparently, is part of the reason for the unbearable, who the hell just kicked me in the crotch? pain… and why I need a bra for my bump.
And I’ve still got 6 weeks left! Which is not nearly enough time and an ETERNITY all at once.
And at the rate I’ve been taking baths lately, it’s possible there will be a serious water supply issue come Christmas. If I could live in my soaking bathtub for then next 6 weeks, I would. It’s the only place I can get comfortable. Sitting means crotch pain, laying means back pain, standing means I’m going to be short of breath and my right leg will most likely go numb. Walking is… torture. But floating, I can do.
Looking forward to 6 more weeks of insane cravings for rocks and laundry soap, all while wearing my bump bra and icing my crotch.