I’m going to try to squeeze this post out quick, in between
my many to dos at work.
So today I am 7 months pregnant. For those of you not
keeping track that is 28 weeks. Which means I have 12 weeks or 84 days left. It
seems like forever away until I think start thinking of all the things I need
to accomplish at home and work before ORG makes his way into the world.
His room is a disaster. Since we moved Avery to her big girl
room, the baby room as become the dumping ground for everything else. Now I am
trying to go through and get rid of all the unnecessary and find a place for
the necessary. (a bit off topic: The Container Store opened near my house and
my OCD is urging me to go) Anywho, his crib is in pieces because my brother is
going to paint it and I have to get it to him sometime soon. I am not painting
the walls, sticking with the ever-so-trendy gray that I picked when it was
Avery’s room. I did find wallpaper to use on one wall and that makes me feel a
little bit more accomplished. But who the hell am I kidding? I still have to
buy it and pester Ryan to hang it. I feel like I learned my lesson about buying expensive crib
bedding sets. The quilt was never used, the skirt was only used for a few
months until we had to lower the mattress so low that it looked ridiculous. And
really, it was all too matchy, matchy. I will pack it up in one of those vacuum
storage bags and save it for Avery. Maybe she will like bees when she has a
baby.For now, it will be sheets and swaddles.
At my 28 week appointment, my Doctor told me to keep track
of fetal movement, to look for about 10 kicks in 2 hours. I had to stifle a
laugh because this kid never stops moving. I can count 10 kicks in 20 minutes.
A lot of the time, I feel like my lungs and stomach are being pushed up into
throat while my bladder is constantly being massaged to the point that I am
seriously considering wearing diapers from here on out. This morning when I was
getting dressed, I glanced in the mirror and it almost made me cry. Not out of
joy or sadness, but out of pure fear that I just can’t imagine this belly
getting bigger. And we all know that in the next 12 weeks, it will.
I never understood why pregnant women mourn the loss of the view
of their feet. I am more worried about the fact I cannot see my vagina any
more. Blind shaving is dangerous business. I guess maybe it is better to not be
able to see all the strange things going on down there. Yeah, I could get a
mirror but I haven’t reached that point of desperation yet.
It is getting harder and harder to get to spin class,
although I do. I’ve been averaging 4x a week and it makes all the difference
when I exercise. I cannot do some of the positions like jumps or hovering so I
have just modified it to what I am comfortable doing. If I am bent over for too
long, I start getting cramps and/or want to pee. But I am going to stick with
it for as long as I possibly can. Even if I just go and sit on the bike and
pedal, keeping the habit and routine is important. I am still squeezing into my
regular workout clothes (apologies to anyone who has to see me) but I
cannot justify spending money on something I will most likely only wear for 10
more weeks. So squeeze it will be.I seem to do a lot of squeezing these days.
Avery is starting to ask when she can meet her brother. She
likes to lift up my shirt and “look” in my belly button at him. I swear
whenever we are lying in bed and she starts talking, he gets all squirmy. Of
all I am excited about from this pregnancy, I am most excited to see these two
together. We talk about him daily and while I know she does not “get” the full
impact of what this new life will have on HER life, she is excited.
In 2 weeks Avery will be 3. I cannot believe it. And if it
is true that 3’s are worse than 2’s, we are so F$%^. I am given very little say
in her outfit choices. It is ALWAYS a dress. ALWAYS. And if you follow me on
IG, you know about the yellow shoes. The yellow shoes that we regularly debate
the need to wear IN bed, and agree to leave them on her dresser while she
sleeps. Her hair has 3 options: A messy white-trash mess hanging in her face,
collecting food from day (her favorite), a Rapunzel/Tangled do (one braid down
the back), or Doc McStuffins (2 pig tail braids). Sometimes she allows
headbands (when I can find them to fit her gigantic noggin’) and sometimes barrettes.
I am learning, in my tired state, to reserve energy to fight about the
important stuff like hygiene and health these days. She prefers daddy to me
most of the time. And most of the time that is OK with me. I’d much rather lay
on the couch then get you your 10th cup of water or look for the
spider you swear is in your bed. Daddy is very good at those chores.
So I went over my time limit to write this and I have to end
my rambling. Plus my 25th bathroom break for the day is
calling/kicking.
Poor me.
xoxo
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