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).
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