My Blog, My Soapbox

I don’t have a whole lot of dignity left.  Perhaps that’s a good thing, as I know that a whole team of people will be in my junk sometime soon, watching me do one of the most horrifying things a person can do (Tony’s rule: shoulders and up are safe). 

 

People are pretty rude when you’re pregnant, seeing it as license to ask all sorts of questions.  And even when the questions really aren’t that prying, they are rude and prying if you’re a full-term pregnant lady who is in pain and can only focus on one thing: getting that baby out.

 

Take the due date question, for example.  “Hi, nice to meet you (I’m exaggerating this here, because no one says that, even if they have seen from across the street that you are massively pregnant and are shouting through traffic).  When are you due?”  I sometimes feel like this conversation has multiple sides, none of which are good at this point.  You want to know how many weeks ago I slept with my husband and conceived a child.  You’re asking me when I had sex last fall, if you think about it.  You want to know when I am going to push a giant baby out of my vagina.  My vagina!  You want to be able to say something like, “Oh, I thought you looked about due!  Get your sleep now!”  Thank you for the wild compliment, stranger.  You want to speculate on the sex of the baby.  Guess what?  You, along with everybody else, have a 50/50 shot at being correct.  Don’t act so smug.  If I don’t have a clue, how can you?

 

 

First of all, I have looked “due” for the past two or three months, but I’ve dropped recently and now I waddle, so yeah, there’s no mistaking that I’m due.  Secondly, who sleeps when they’re this pregnant?  I went into work for an hour this morning and I’ve been napping uncomfortably pretty much ever since and I am STILL EXHAUSTED.  Finally, June 26th is not a magic date.  I will not suddenly give birth on June 26th because that is when the baby is finally ready.  I HAVE BEEN FULL TERM FOR A WEEK AND A HALF NOW.  I am THERE.  DONE.  A due date is 40 weeks from supposed ovulation and conception (which is an educated guess anyhow), and a healthy baby is born two weeks on either side of this date.  Will everyone please stop telling me I am almost there?!  I am there. 

 

And if I give birth tonight, the baby isn’t early.  Charles was born almost two weeks before his due date, but I think we can all agree that he wasn’t early.  Hell, at 9 lbs, 3 oz, if he had been any later, he might have had to come out through a window instead of the front door.

 

And yes, I know I should enjoy my Charles every day and savor these last weeks with him as my only child.  What do you think I have been doing?  I love the little punk, much as he throws epic (and typical) two-year-old tantrums, but you know what?  I don’t think a new baby is going to make me love him less.  And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to give him more “lap, mommy, lap” when I am done birthing his brother or sister.  Right now, I am so uncomfortable and so huge that I can’t exactly give Charles the kind of attention he craves.  When the baby’s finally born, at least I will be able to hand it off to Tony every once in awhile to dote on my firstborn.

 

Honestly, he’s one of the biggest reasons I want to give birth already.  Can you imagine his fascination with a baby?  I can, and I want to witness it.

 

But right now I’m just so damn tired.  Please baby, I can’t handle much more of this.  I am a currently a horrible mom and wife due to the exhaustion and pain, and I don’t get to do anything fun anymore, so just, please.  Any time now.