Yankee Drawl

Inching Down The Homestretch

Posted By jayna on March 28, 2009

Inching or adding inches.

I suppose it’s both.

Both the belly and the rear end.

But only one is good at balancing a glass of milk for Oreo dunking. I haven’t tried both, but really, I only recommend using one anatomy part for that sort of purpose.

So. Let’s see. The obligatory 35 week complaints . . . hmm . . .

I know exactly how long a mega size, 1000 tablet jar of Tums will last. And it’s not very long around here.
Sleep doesn’t start before 1am, and is rudely interrupted 3 or 4 times before morning by fire spewing up my esophagus. Hence the Tums consumption.
My bottom rib actually vibrates when kicked with a certain force at a certain angle.
Sneezing is becoming a really big issue. Especially when not at home with unlimited access to clean pants.
Regular dreams are fully replaced by fantasies of shoving the husband rudely to the floor in the middle of the night – he doesn’t seem to understand that 2/3 of the bed is not quite enough for me and my body pillow. And he smells like pizza. Perpetual pizza. 9 long months of smelling nothing but pizza.
Nothing is clean enough. Ever. And it’s not my house to clean. Or to completely rearrange as I see fit. I had to settle for overhauling E’s room.
My maternity jeans sag in the arse, but completely cut off circulation at the waist. For some odd reason, I assumed the important part would be the most stretchy part. It may appear like it at times, but I’m really not growing a baby in my rear end.
Not only does it hurt like a bitch to walk, sit, get up, bend down, lay down and stand (thank you, back injury for the continued reminder of what it feels like to be broken) but it really hurts to do all of those things while wrassling the toddler. The toddler who wants Mommy and only Mommy. Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Or the world will explode.
Other parties are beginning to harp, or as they put it – express concerns, about the impending birth. I have not yet resigned myself to having a repeat performance of the last time and am continually scheming ways to get my way.
Other parties are also flipping out about not having anything ready for the baby. Place to sleep – check. Things to wear – check. Stuff to eat – usually attached to me, so check. I’m not seeing the panic inducing list of things missing. I walked out of the hospital with more newborn diapers than E ever used, and she was fully outfitted with hats and mittens and blankets and a bath set and everything. But apparently I’m too lackadaisical and should be completely panicking right now.
E has chosen this very week to not only potty train, but to begin sleeping in the real bed. Confinement is over. Sleep is close to being over. And sitting my sore self on the bathroom floor for hours of the day is nowhere near finished. Perfect timing.