I am 35 weeks, 2 days pregnant. Which is to say that this baby has been occupying my uterus for seven thousand months, 6 days (it’s like figuring out dog years, only much more complicated and subject to hormonal fluctuations). Which is also to say that this baby will be parked here for another 40 years, despite the chirpy assurances to the contrary by “science” and “doctors”. Which is also also to say that I am fit only for a list post, which I know means I’m lazy and a hack and blah blah blah. I promise I will refund your money in full.
- Comparing your fetus to food items is a practical way to make an intangible tangible. Until the creators of said list spiral off into the absurdly specific (heirloom tomato? english hothouse cucumber?). Then it’s just silly.
- Every time I make a sudden movement, it triggers an extremely painful contraction. So I’ve alternated between laying on the couch, suffering through the indignity of repeated viewings of “He-Man” while the boys run around the family room, pointing swords at each other, declaring they “have the POWER!” and slumping in front of the computer, reading all of Lenore Skenazy’s past Tweets while becoming more and more convinced the entire world is insane.
- The almost two year old did something alarming to one of the toilets which resulted in massive flooding of the bathroom, landing, and basement stairs. The water may or may not have contained human fecal matter. Said two year old may or may not have been caught delightedly splashing in the aforementioned water.
- Those of you who read Friday’s post will be relieved to know that The Girl finally finished her math assignment. Five days after it was assigned. Currently, she’s back in her room, working on hour six of today’s 20 problem assignment. I would be more upset about the situation, if getting upset didn’t trigger contractions. And there’s no way I’m going into labor until she’s done with math- she’ll just use the birth of a new sibling as an excuse to draw out her assignment even longer.
- Yesterday was cold and rainy. The pack of wild savages that have sprung from my body made up a new inside game. It was called “remove all the drawers from the coffee table and see how many human bodies can fit into the cavity at once”. Last time I could bring myself to look, there were four tiny people scrunched up in there. They were wearing nothing but underwear and winter boots, declaring that they had “the POWER”.
- As I’m sitting here, trying to figure out how to end this post, I can hear that the boys have (mercifully) switched off “He-Man” and are now watching an episode of “Yo Gabba Gabba” (not quite sure there’s been an improvement). All I can hear is DJ Lance mocking my third trimester irritability by harping about how awesome it is to be happy. And to add insult to injury, he follows it up with this chipper little number:
Some of us are 549 million years pregnant and can’t stand up, dance, or run. So bite me, DJ Lance and The Salteens.
p.s. I just forced Josh, Catholic Exchange’s preternaturally patient IT guy, to spend almost an hour of his life explaining to me how to embed the above video. Thank God it was a Yo Gabba Gabba clip, and not something undignified, like He-Man. I’ve got a reputation to maintain, after all.
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