On the Eighth Month
Ah, pregnancy. Three weeks and four days left until we're due. When I find a moment to ponder the fact, I can't decide if I wish it would hurry up and come so I'm not pregnant anymore, or if I am alarmed that the day is approaching so quickly. In the throes of spring break, I'm leaning toward the latter. Unless I sit or lay down for more than 20 seconds at a time.
Without fail, I am an emotional basket case during the last month of pregnancy. Delivery date is a great source of anxiety for me. Addison was 2 days early, Bryn was 27, Leah was 4 days late, for crying out loud! I just have no idea what to expect, which is not a huge deal, except that I'm afraid labor and delivery will be on the speedy side, and my husband works an hour away at best. And I know it's going to happen the day before bathroom cleaning day, so whoever ends up at our house will be totally disgusted by how nasty we are. I promise I clean them every single week!
Last week we had a false alarm. There was an insane thunder/hail/snow/rainstorm the likes of which I've never seen. And I starting having very noticeable contractions. And they were two and three minutes apart consistently for a long time. So I called Nate and told him to head home, just in case. He'd just missed the train, pushing his estimated travel time to 2 hours instead of 1. I was surrounded by children. I was excited, I was nervous. I faithfully wrote down the times of the contractions, herded all the kids to quiet time and nap time, typed up instructions for babysitters, and then tried everything I've ever heard of to stop labor, just so I'd know, ya know? I ate, I drank, I took multiple trips to the facilities, I walked vigorously, I took a bath, I laid down on my left side. Still, 2-3 minutes without a miss.
Nate, in the meantime, had recruited a coworker to drive him to the next train stop. They missed it. So they went to the next one. They missed it too. Then the next, which they also missed. At that point he called me and asked me how I felt about coming and picking him up. Uh . . . So the poor coworker girl drove Nate all the way home! How embarrassing!
And then he got home and I had no idea whether this was the real deal or not, and all our babysitters were going out of town for spring break, and I was folding laundry and gathering things for the bag and somewhere in there the contractions stopped. And I was a major grump for the rest of the day.
And then there are the days during which, for some reason, I am just swinging like a pendulum from laughter to tears, or at least the verge of each, all day long. I've semi-sworn off facebook, or at least cut way back on my usage of it, but Nate wasn't around this evening, and I finally got the kids to bed after a long rainy day of spring break, and was on the verge of tears after dealing with everything, so I plopped myself down in front of facebook to forget all my troubles, and watched one of those "23 kids who are having a worse _____ than you" things with all the gifs. Tears were pouring down my cheeks as I laughed uproariously at each and every one. I could hardly breathe. Pregnancy makes me so weird.
Then there's the self-image portion of things. Don't get me started. I am excellent at gaining weight. It's one of my greatest talents. So when I'm not pregnant, if I don't want to be whaleish, I have to be very careful about what I put down my gullet, and also exercise regularly. And I feel like I do a pretty good job. But then I get pregnant, and before I know it I've gained 15 pounds and the baby is only the size of a lima bean and I start feeling like a tub of lard, so naturally I eat junk food with reckless abandon. It's a vicious cycle, I tell you. And I officially at this moment weigh more than I ever have in my life. Sigh. I generally avoid full-length mirrors, but sometimes you just can't avoid catching a glimpse of the startling truth. For example . . .
I work in the nursery in our ward. I love it, and I absolutely love the people I work with in there. And then on Sunday I find that I've been on candid camera all through nursery and a lovely triptych of photos has been posted to our ward facebook page. And in the worst of them, I'm doing singing time with the kids. And we're singing "Head Shoulders Knees and Toes." And we just happen to be on the "toes" portion of the song. Oh baby, I look like poetry in motion, I tell you. Currently I am laughing my head off thinking about it. Give me five minutes or so and we'll see.
But on the sappy side, life is amazing. This bod of mine astounds me - not just when I see the above-described picture, but also in good ways. It's crazy that soon we will have a little boy, and that his fingers and toes and ribcage and ears will have been formed as a result of the nourishment my body has given them. And I'll get the weight off, and he'll learn to roll over and eat squash and laugh at his brother and sisters. And he'll be a little piece of Nate and I running around in the world. I'll probably start crying soon, let's be serious. But the hubby has returned, and read my mind sending out the "we need milkshakes" vibe, so all is right in the world. Three and a half weeks to go!
Without fail, I am an emotional basket case during the last month of pregnancy. Delivery date is a great source of anxiety for me. Addison was 2 days early, Bryn was 27, Leah was 4 days late, for crying out loud! I just have no idea what to expect, which is not a huge deal, except that I'm afraid labor and delivery will be on the speedy side, and my husband works an hour away at best. And I know it's going to happen the day before bathroom cleaning day, so whoever ends up at our house will be totally disgusted by how nasty we are. I promise I clean them every single week!
Last week we had a false alarm. There was an insane thunder/hail/snow/rainstorm the likes of which I've never seen. And I starting having very noticeable contractions. And they were two and three minutes apart consistently for a long time. So I called Nate and told him to head home, just in case. He'd just missed the train, pushing his estimated travel time to 2 hours instead of 1. I was surrounded by children. I was excited, I was nervous. I faithfully wrote down the times of the contractions, herded all the kids to quiet time and nap time, typed up instructions for babysitters, and then tried everything I've ever heard of to stop labor, just so I'd know, ya know? I ate, I drank, I took multiple trips to the facilities, I walked vigorously, I took a bath, I laid down on my left side. Still, 2-3 minutes without a miss.
Nate, in the meantime, had recruited a coworker to drive him to the next train stop. They missed it. So they went to the next one. They missed it too. Then the next, which they also missed. At that point he called me and asked me how I felt about coming and picking him up. Uh . . . So the poor coworker girl drove Nate all the way home! How embarrassing!
And then he got home and I had no idea whether this was the real deal or not, and all our babysitters were going out of town for spring break, and I was folding laundry and gathering things for the bag and somewhere in there the contractions stopped. And I was a major grump for the rest of the day.
And then there are the days during which, for some reason, I am just swinging like a pendulum from laughter to tears, or at least the verge of each, all day long. I've semi-sworn off facebook, or at least cut way back on my usage of it, but Nate wasn't around this evening, and I finally got the kids to bed after a long rainy day of spring break, and was on the verge of tears after dealing with everything, so I plopped myself down in front of facebook to forget all my troubles, and watched one of those "23 kids who are having a worse _____ than you" things with all the gifs. Tears were pouring down my cheeks as I laughed uproariously at each and every one. I could hardly breathe. Pregnancy makes me so weird.
Then there's the self-image portion of things. Don't get me started. I am excellent at gaining weight. It's one of my greatest talents. So when I'm not pregnant, if I don't want to be whaleish, I have to be very careful about what I put down my gullet, and also exercise regularly. And I feel like I do a pretty good job. But then I get pregnant, and before I know it I've gained 15 pounds and the baby is only the size of a lima bean and I start feeling like a tub of lard, so naturally I eat junk food with reckless abandon. It's a vicious cycle, I tell you. And I officially at this moment weigh more than I ever have in my life. Sigh. I generally avoid full-length mirrors, but sometimes you just can't avoid catching a glimpse of the startling truth. For example . . .
I work in the nursery in our ward. I love it, and I absolutely love the people I work with in there. And then on Sunday I find that I've been on candid camera all through nursery and a lovely triptych of photos has been posted to our ward facebook page. And in the worst of them, I'm doing singing time with the kids. And we're singing "Head Shoulders Knees and Toes." And we just happen to be on the "toes" portion of the song. Oh baby, I look like poetry in motion, I tell you. Currently I am laughing my head off thinking about it. Give me five minutes or so and we'll see.
But on the sappy side, life is amazing. This bod of mine astounds me - not just when I see the above-described picture, but also in good ways. It's crazy that soon we will have a little boy, and that his fingers and toes and ribcage and ears will have been formed as a result of the nourishment my body has given them. And I'll get the weight off, and he'll learn to roll over and eat squash and laugh at his brother and sisters. And he'll be a little piece of Nate and I running around in the world. I'll probably start crying soon, let's be serious. But the hubby has returned, and read my mind sending out the "we need milkshakes" vibe, so all is right in the world. Three and a half weeks to go!
Oh Michelle, I LOVE your blog posts! They really make me laugh and cry and bring back sweet (?) memories of my own kiddies growing up.
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