I’ve come to the point in pregnancy when it’s best to keep sharp objects away from me, both to protect others from my wrath and to protect me from myself (DIY c-section, anyone? <<obviously, that is a joke).
I can’t go anywhere without getting obvious, blatant looks of shock and awe. People aren’t even trying to hide their bewilderment. A lady looked so scared of me and my sheer size yesterday that I glanced down to see if there was actually a baby crowning that I wasn’t aware of, or if my bag of water had managed to make it’s way out and hang between my legs like an udder.
A 3 year old pointed and shouted across the store, “Look, Daddy! That lady is going to have lots of babies!” Like, I think she thought I’m carrying a litter.
I’ll admit, my belly is like WHOA. Really. I’m carrying around so much at this point that my left knee is beginning to swell and throb and the simple act of brushing my teeth wipes me out. Seriously. I had to take a breather while brushing this morning. I had to lean over on the bathroom counter and rest on my elbows, all while breathing like a 200 lb Labrador in August.
But the looks people give have nothing on the rage inducing, unsolicited comments about my due date. A smattering:
“Oh that is AWFUL! Just awful. That poor baby.” – From the bitch behind me in line at the fabric store upon over hearing me mention my Christmas Eve due date.
“Oh no! I feel sorry for her.” – The asshole salesman at the Apple store who then admitted to installing key-stroke software on his 13 year old’s computer to spy on her.
“Oooohh…. good luck with that.”- The lady with frizzy hair and ill-fitting sweats who approached me at the soda fountain.
Here’s the thing, people. My kid, no matter when she’s born, will be FINE. And really, what the FUCK am I to do about it now? How does your comment improve my situation at all? What the hell are you trying to accomplish? Yes, it may be “unfortunate” if she has to share her day with baby Jesus, but it’s also unfortunate that you have the social skills and tact of a styrofoam peanut, and you seem to be making it through life okay.
Don’t get me wrong. I would love to have this baby BEFORE Christmas. I would love to have this baby TONIGHT. With Kendall, I didn’t want him to come until his due date or after. I simply wasn’t ready. He came 4 days late, and it was perfect.
This time? Well, 99% of “the list” is checked off, Christmas preparations are complete, and my mom is already here. Yeah, she hit the road after my super fun bout of false labor last week that I KNEW was false, but also KNEW if I didn’t have her go ahead and come up, it would become real. So now we wait… and wait… and everyone in this house is terrified of me.
Scott took Kendall to the mall to “shop,” my mom went to “the store” and I’m here by myself. I’m pretty sure they are all just trying to hide from me. I don’t blame them. It’s best this way. I have access to knives here.
And yes, I know, I know… she’ll come when she’s ready, it’s not even my due date yet, a due date is not an expiration date, it’s possible she could be TWO WEEKS LATE. ::headsmash::
That’s not stopping me from trying, even if just to get my mind off of things. To give me something to focus on. In addition to the pineapple I’ve been eating and the Exorcism… er, I mean Labor Cookies I’m making tonight, I’m also planning on eggplant parm tomorrow. That is, if my naked belly dance under the lunar eclipse doesn’t work tonight. Add to that that tomorrow is the winter solstice and that this only happens at the same time every 372 years, and I’d say you have the perfect recipe for thousands of women going into labor in the wee hours of the morning. So maybe that will mean there will be no room for me at the hospital, but I won’t be bothered. If Mary could push Jesus out in a manger, I can certainly push my kid out in the ER bay… or the back of my Jeep… we have towels there already. It was on the list. The list Scott said he completed. SO THEY BETTER BE IN THE JEEP ALREADY.
I’m 39.5/39.75 weeks pregnant (depending on which due date you go off of, because *I* know when I ovulated, even if the doctor never acknowledged that).