With apologies to Eric for his enthusiastic tagging and the general promotion of camaraderie, I just can’t do another meme right now.
(If you would like to see the questions I’m not answering, please click here. If any leave you with that burning I-must-know-this-about-her feeling, let me know, and we can inform and enlighten each other in the comments area.)
Can’t do much of anything. Tired. Big. There’s a baby balancing on his head on my pubic bone and clamoring a mambo melody on my femur tips. Bang bang clap!
Didn’t make it to swim class tonight. For shame! Twice this week I’ve been — oh what’s that word for kids who ditch school and get caught? My brain is soup.
Today I had so many appointments. There was the CHP in the morning to check the installation of the infant carseat and where I learned from a tall man with no sense of humor that my seemingly amply-sized four-door VW Jetta sedan is apparently not a family car as the passenger seat has to be pushed so far forward as to be uninhabitable and driver’s side similarly to render car undriveable except by midgets with long sticks.
I asked my friend today, a new mom of four weeks, what she does about the carseat in her little civic. She said she doesn’t obey the rules exactly in terms of how far up the seats should go. “You’ll learn,” she said, “you just can’t do everything they tell you to do.”
Next appointment was fetal monitoring at the hospital again. Twice a week people… twice a week. Sigh. Wasn’t as pleasant this time. Nurses were cranky. But the boy still passed. He’s fine.
Then I had my weekly OB appointment. (Are you still with me? Are you bored yet? Any wonder I came home and fell asleep on couch — oh wait, I’m getting ahead of this fascinating tale.)
I asked her what they did before fetal monitoring, I mean, if I hadn’t caved to her demand that I do this. Back in the day all they could do was rely on the mom to notice if baby was moving or not.
Oh well.
I tried to stay out and about so I could just go to swim class at 6, but it didn’t work. Made it to knitting store to buy DPNs for making sleeves of baby sweater I’m working on (wheeee! I’m knitting my first sweater! must post photo…), picked up a biiiiig chicken salad sandwich from an Italian deli and promptly consumed half in my parked car — didn’t even know I was that hungry. And still I would have had to kill two hours till swimming.
Wasn’t gonna happen.
The little widget in the right sidebar is programmed to the due date that my 8-week ultrasound predicted (December 3), but I’ve been following my due date according to the 28-day-month calendaring of my pregnancy from date of last period and so I say to all of you:
Hello, my name is Julie and I am 38 weeks pregnant, as of Thursday.
This road is almost ending.
As the comedians say, I flew all the way from blahdeblah to get here, and boy are my arms tired.
(By the way, do you think I need a new blog name for after the baby comes?)
If you rename the blog or not is up to you, but keep blogging. It is fanstastic. Get some rest, you have worked really hard and done an outstanding job. I don’t think there has been a better pregnant lady ever!
Poor you. I don’t envy you the heavily pregnant bit at all. I did that four times and it just all gets too much at the end. I loved being pregnant in loads of ways but hated being so huge and feeling so tired and always needing to pee.
But make the most of your last few weeks of relative freedom – the lack of sleep with a newborn, or the unpredicatability about WHEN you will get any sleep, is hard. I always remember wishing I had enjoyed those last few weeks of just being myself a bit more.
Good luck! And yes, make sure you keep blogging.