We are hoping and praying that today is not an indication of the next sevenish weeks. Oy.
After a blessed, energetic second trimester and, up until this weekend, start of the third, it seems the fact that I am Montsrously Pregnant has finally caught up with me. Yesterday I decided to Rearrange All the Things! and immediately after the bed (yes. Oops. Bad future mommy.) was in its new position, I was seized with guilt and worry that I had hurt the baby and needed to go to bed. Unfortunately, I had a lunch date with ladies from church and grocery shopping to do after that. Lunch was delightful, but I hardly made it through Walmart afterwards and by the time I got home at 3, I was ready to collapse. That would not have happened two weeks ago. I would've come home and probably done dishes and practiced piano and built a bomb shelter and filed our taxes... before snack.
Sooo... fatigue: 1; Leah: 0.
Today I decided to relax. I got laundry folded, made soup and grilled cheese for lunch, and got crockpot chili started for dinner. Of course, by the time we got to dinner, I had completely lost all interest in anything with beans, hamburger, and... chili. Apart from that, I pretty much lived on the couch. Although there was one minor adventure...
Basic Foot Maintenance in the Third Trimester
If you've never attempted to clip your toenails beyond the Shoelaces Are Evil epiphany of pregnancy, you can attempt to replicate the experience with this simple experiment:
1. Take a carton of eggs, which is actually smaller than your baby at this point, and sandwich it among roughly a dozen filled water balloons. (Note: your baby is better protected than the eggs - and significantly more durable - but of course, as a first-timer, there's no way you'd believe this.)
2. Place the egg baby under your shirt in roughly pregnant-belly position. Secure with tape or large pants.
3. Now try to grab your feet and trim those nails with a sharp, pointy object.
Nick has volunteered to help me with the foot-related tasks, and while I totally trust him, it is not fair that he should suddenly be subjected to both dish duty and my feet. One foot is cute, or at least mostly normal. The other... is not. Grossness. Incarnate in foot form. I would not even pay someone without a medical degree to take on that task. Anyway, I did eventually get all ten toenails clipped to non-sock-murdering lengths.
Next time on Things You Never Wanted to Know About: Shaving when you can't see your feet (Or: Why I will try to never be Monstrously Pregnant in shorts season).
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Our life in the last two weeks
The Christmas decorations are still up in our house. Nick and I are hosting our circuit's Epiphany party (late, of course) next Friday, and I figured that was as good an excuse as any to leave everything where it is. Especially because I know taking the tree down will leave a gaping hole in our living room feng shui and the goddess of inspiration is not my best friend at the moment. She thinks I took her for granted when I made a mobile for the baby's room. Anyway, I was all set to leave the decorations up until after the party, but I'm starting to get sick of them. Never thought that would happen. I love Christmas decorations. And Nick wouldn't let me put them up until well into December, so it's not like they've been around since Halloween. But they come down today. Or maybe Sunday. We'll see how it goes. But once they come down, WHAT WILL WE DO FOR AMBIANCE? We have three lamps in the entire house. We are not stylish people. We have recessed lighting on a dimmer switch in the living room, so I suppose that will help, and the only other dim-able lighting is in the baby's room. Great for midnight diaper changes, sure, but when trying to be elegant hosts? "Come! Enjoy your dessert in the nursery! The lighting is perfect!"
Perhaps I need to stop reading interior decorating magazines. Then all will be well.
In other news, The Belly Grows. I thought I was brilliant a couple weeks ago when I purchased a pack of men's "beaters" from Walmart. Maternity camis are easily $15 each, which is a ridiculous price to pay for an UNDERSHIRT. Men's beaters are $12 for a pack of five or six, and they're long and stretchy enough to cover the ever-expanding middle that is my month eight figure. (Seven months done, in the eighth month, for those of you playing along at home and completely bamboozled by the insanity that is pregnancy math.) What I didn't count on, however, was the ribbing. It helps make them super stretchy and comfy, of course, but it also kind of clings to the shirt on top of it, so unless the beater is tucked into the pants, everything still follows the path of least resistance and winds up around the belly button. Still not popped out, btw. Now mostly just flat. Nick is adjusting.
I have three pairs of maternity pants that I wear regularly. They are rotated with the three pairs of sweatpants that are the uniform of a soon-to-be Stay At Home Mom. A pair of high-banded gray corduroys (my favorite), a pair of flare-legged, high-banded but a little snug jeans, and a pair of tapered jeans with a low, thick elastic waist. The last pair of jeans is the most versatile, since they're a) denim (in the loosest sense; stretchy maternity "denim," which is probably mostly spandex or lycra or some synthetic blend) and b) not prone to falling down. The problem is that this baby has never liked things pressing on him. He tries to get away from the doctor every time she tries to find his heartbeat. He pouts whenever my stomach gets too full or I become selfish enough to take a deep breath, only assuring me that he is, in fact, alive when I've digested enough to make his little acrobatics possible again. He's kind of territorial, it seems. Anyway, when I wear said jeans, he spends most of his day kicking at the waist band. I enjoy feeling his movements more regularly, but he has found one specific spot, and those of you who have been pregnant might know which spot this is, that actually hurts when pummeled. Not fun, little one.
Finally, Nick and I were discussing our dreams over breakfast this morning. I've been having vivid pregnancy dreams for months now, none of which are appropriate for this blog. Last night Nick had what I would call a sympathetic pregnancy dream. Vivid. Weird. But totally blog-appropriate. He said he came into the living room and was apparently not surprised to find two of me watching tv. One of me was in a nest of pillows on the floor and the other was on the couch. The big dilemma in this dream was deciding which of me to cuddle. He picked one and as soon as we touched, the two of me became one of me. Psychologically speaking, I surmise that this dream had something to do with the whole me-having-another-person-growing-inside thing, but Nick insists it was just a "more of you to love" thing.
That's all from our neck of the woods! Have a lovely weekend (almost)!
Perhaps I need to stop reading interior decorating magazines. Then all will be well.
In other news, The Belly Grows. I thought I was brilliant a couple weeks ago when I purchased a pack of men's "beaters" from Walmart. Maternity camis are easily $15 each, which is a ridiculous price to pay for an UNDERSHIRT. Men's beaters are $12 for a pack of five or six, and they're long and stretchy enough to cover the ever-expanding middle that is my month eight figure. (Seven months done, in the eighth month, for those of you playing along at home and completely bamboozled by the insanity that is pregnancy math.) What I didn't count on, however, was the ribbing. It helps make them super stretchy and comfy, of course, but it also kind of clings to the shirt on top of it, so unless the beater is tucked into the pants, everything still follows the path of least resistance and winds up around the belly button. Still not popped out, btw. Now mostly just flat. Nick is adjusting.
I have three pairs of maternity pants that I wear regularly. They are rotated with the three pairs of sweatpants that are the uniform of a soon-to-be Stay At Home Mom. A pair of high-banded gray corduroys (my favorite), a pair of flare-legged, high-banded but a little snug jeans, and a pair of tapered jeans with a low, thick elastic waist. The last pair of jeans is the most versatile, since they're a) denim (in the loosest sense; stretchy maternity "denim," which is probably mostly spandex or lycra or some synthetic blend) and b) not prone to falling down. The problem is that this baby has never liked things pressing on him. He tries to get away from the doctor every time she tries to find his heartbeat. He pouts whenever my stomach gets too full or I become selfish enough to take a deep breath, only assuring me that he is, in fact, alive when I've digested enough to make his little acrobatics possible again. He's kind of territorial, it seems. Anyway, when I wear said jeans, he spends most of his day kicking at the waist band. I enjoy feeling his movements more regularly, but he has found one specific spot, and those of you who have been pregnant might know which spot this is, that actually hurts when pummeled. Not fun, little one.
Finally, Nick and I were discussing our dreams over breakfast this morning. I've been having vivid pregnancy dreams for months now, none of which are appropriate for this blog. Last night Nick had what I would call a sympathetic pregnancy dream. Vivid. Weird. But totally blog-appropriate. He said he came into the living room and was apparently not surprised to find two of me watching tv. One of me was in a nest of pillows on the floor and the other was on the couch. The big dilemma in this dream was deciding which of me to cuddle. He picked one and as soon as we touched, the two of me became one of me. Psychologically speaking, I surmise that this dream had something to do with the whole me-having-another-person-growing-inside thing, but Nick insists it was just a "more of you to love" thing.
That's all from our neck of the woods! Have a lovely weekend (almost)!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)