NO BABY YET.
For the record, I promise -- pinkie swearsie promise -- that updating my blog or Twitstream or whatever will indeed be among the very first things I'll do, should anything interesting happen re: my womb. In the meantime, you can safely assume that radio silence just means I am sleeping.
Or, in the case of the last 24 hours, that I was alternating between sleeping and running around like a crazy person trying to take care of things related to my two pesky existing children. Oh, and puking. Because why not? It's the third fucking trimester, let's get all NOSTALGIC for the first 12 weeks for no particular reason.
Yesterday was absolutely ACTION PACKED, I tell you. First up: an OB appointment, just to determine how incredibly NOT in labor I currently am, or will be in the foreseeable future. Thanks, cervix, you lazy good-for-nothing piece of...
Ahem! Right after that, I had to waddle my way over to Noah's school to meet with the school psychologist. We had his most recent evaluation conducted privately, through our insurance, and apparently the act of handing over the results to the school district triggered some kind of MASSIVE PROCEDURAL CLUSTERFUCK OF PROCEDURES, including additional reviews, in-classroom assessments, parent conferences and another entire whole damn IEP meeting. (Which is scheduled to take place approximately 10 minutes after I give birth.)
The conference yesterday was an almost two hours long touchy-feely-fest, during which I was asked to use adjectives to describe what I loved most about Noah. A terribly unfair thing to ask an emotional nine-million-month pregnant lady, I think. I've gotten very good at objectively discussing our challenges and concerns with special education professionals, but whenever any of them leave an opening for me to get all schmoopy about my kid, I very quickly tend to tear up and be all, "HE IS MY HEART! MY EVERYTHING! HE IS A BETTE MIDLER SONG DRESSED IN MISMATCHED OLD NAVY! WEEEEEEEP!"
After THAT, I had to take Ezra to the pediatrician for...well, let's just call it a Fruit Sticker Related Concern. I'd first noticed the Concern on Monday, and had been alternating between Neosporin and YES, Vaseline ever since, but while I was meeting with the psychologist, Jason had inspected the Concern and of course, called the doctor immediately because MAYDAY MAYDAY WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE OF CHAFING.
So I took him, patiently explaining to the doctor that I actually wasn't all that Concerned about the Concern, but figured it was better to get it checked out now, rather than wait too long and suddenly be dealing with a newborn baby AND an infected, gangrenous Concern. Also: My husband still owes me a trip into the attic to find a missing swing part. I'm just trying to keep everybody happy here.
The doctor was also not Concerned. A little more Neosporin and Vaseline. He'll be fine.
Then I came home and ate some brownies. Then got wicked heartburn, threw up the brownies, and took a nap. Though "nap" is probably misleading. More like I went to bed at 4 pm and never really got back up.
Yep. These last few days are going to be super exciting. Today I have big plans to take care of some fingerprints on the downstairs windows and maybe give those brownies one more try. If all goes to plan, I'll be in bed by 3 pm this time.