(There was no sign of any fingerpainted masterpiece in Noah's cubby today -- only some crayoned and googly-eyed-pasted projects from last week. I assume this means Noah's fingerpainting has been deemed Bulletin Board Worthy. Or else it got thrown out, which...um. No, I'm sure it's probably the bulletin board thing.)
(STRANGLED GURGLING OF BRAINS SEEPING OUT EARS)
Anyway! Holy crap on construction paper, I'm 36 weeks pregnant.
I know I usually crop my head out of these, but I feel like you kind of need it now for scaling purposes. Belly: officially bigger than my skull. Noted!
It's pretty much bigger than everything now, and firmly in charge.
Here's what I looked like last time. The only difference being that I used to have about 15 extra pounds of ass, thanks to the six or so glorious months of daily puking this time. The next person who inquires about my weight gain and then tells me I'm "lucky" to have only gained 16 pounds so far is going to get kicked in whatever body part is convenient to be kicked because OH YEAH, I hit the motherfucking jackpot this pregnancy. Why, it was like a built-in case of bulimia, and I didn't even have to mess up my manicure.
(Oh, man. Food. The ability to just sit down and eat some food, any goddamn food at all! Without gagging at the mention of fish or ravenously reading a menu only to lose my appetite completely after seeing that the roast chicken is served with rapini -- oh, God, not RAPINI! I am ready for those days again. Also: chocolate. I really hate chocolate right now, and that hurts my heart, because that just ain't right.)
I've been having a lot of contractions -- sometimes even managing to string a few together in a semi-regular pattern, but I had them all through my final month last time too. So...that probably means absolutely nothing, and I shouldn't have even brought it up. Except that they hurt, and...and...I'm a big lame whiner.
Okay, bitching and sarcasm aside...we're ready. We're excited. We watch him move and wiggle under my skin, already laughing at what a feisty, active little guy he is. And already so different from his big brother, without even being born yet. Jason still calls him "the baby;" I bite my tongue to keep from saying his name aloud since I technically promised to wait until he's here to decide for sure, but...well. Between you and me and a few thousand other people, I'm doing a lousy job of keeping that promise.
Three and a half weeks. Alternatively thrilling and terrifying. And heartburny.