Thirty Six? Already?

Hey all. Yesterday I hit 36 weeks (or 9 months for those not used to "preggo lingo") and it felt like a really busy day. I went to see my OB in the AM, sashayed home and puttered around for a couple of hours before heading to St. Paul's where I had an ultrasound (yes, another one). After this, I headed home, chugged some hot chocolate and curled up on the couch for a 2.5 hour nap. I know, I know...I work myself too hard. That's just the way I roll.

Of course, not satisfied with my monumental accomplishments for the day, I rolled off the couch just in time to go to supper with Scott, my sister Heather, my brother Cullen, and his girlfriend Christine at a restaurant called Hell's Kitchen (good pizza, mind-numbingly good poutine, robotic waitresses and just generally horrible service). Apparently, it is now considered good service to lecture your patrons about the impossibility of ensuring their meal won't be contaminated with shrimp after they've told you they have an allergy. Who knew?

So I had a very exciting weekend (I'll talk about that in another posting) followed by the whirlwind Monday I just described (cough) and that's my excuse for posting this update a bit late (cough cough).

The Baby Center update on Bug's progress is here and, like a couple of weeks ago, the average weight measurement they give is quite low compared to the estimate I got yesterday during my ultrasound. Apparently, Bug is on pace to walk out of the womb already bitching on her cell about traffic and the price of a good pair of Jimmy Choo's but that's another story. Also, the 3D pic and info are here.

Hard to believe that if I was to carry Bug to full term, I'd have another 27 days to go 'cause on both of these websites the babies in their pictures look pretty darn developed to me. Of course, my OB told me that Bug is fully "cooked" so this bun can come out of the oven any time now with no worries.

Livestock and Lingerie

Once upon a time, I was small enough to fit into items that can be classified as lingerie.

These days, I feel a little nostalgic when thinking about those times (and so, I suspect, is Scott).

Thankfully, I haven't had to retire all of my delicates in favour of their larger counterparts or (gag) granny panties but my bras have definitely moved from specialty sizing to "you gotta be kidding me" novelty territory. Embarrassingly, when my father saw one of my current contraptions, he offered the opinion that it could be used to float us all to safety in the case of a tsunami. Funny, dad, reeeeeally funny.

Awhile back, I ended up on the Victoria's Secret email list, which I don't mind under normal circumstances. I have been known to make the occasional run for the border so I could stock up on various items (all lawfully claimed with the appropriate border authorities, I swear) but these days it seems these emails are coming at a rate of a couple per day...a rate that borders on harassment.

I am starting to wonder if someone at V.S. has some CIA style tracking system that determines which of their clients are preggers so they can send taunting emails to those of us who are "blooming" into motherhood (in other words: "gettin' fat") 'cause it doesn't matter how great you look during pregnancy, you just can't pull off a V.S. outfit when you're 9 months pregnant quite the way you did before you started showing.

You hear that Heidi Klum? Even YOU probably looked like shite in your lacy bra and butt floss undies when you were 9 months pregnant! And you know what? I can rest easy in the knowledge that you a) don't know me; b) couldn't give a crap about what I write; and c) won't exactly be falling all over yourself to respond to this challenge to your pregnant hotness. No one can or will disabuse me of my self-serving notion that Heidi too suffered from cellulite and edema at this point in her pregnancy. Aaand somehow that makes me feel so much better.

I know it sounds a bit paranoid but every time I see a notification in my email box from Victoria Secret, I picture some faceless ass hat cackling as they consider the emotional effect of these anatomically impossible models being shoved in my face. Note to self: learn computer hacking techniques. Send V.S. a little viral "something something" as a thank-you-very-effing-much for reminding me on an hourly basis that I am - for now - a fat, gravid cow.

Yeah, yeah, before you all start writing the obligatory messages assuring me I'm wrong on that point, just let me clarify: I'm a fat, gravid, glowing cow.

Moo

Pregnancy Etiquette: Three Rules to Live By

1. Never ask a woman if she's pregnant or assume she is unless you are 100 percent sure.
The reasoning behind this: believe me, you don't want to guess wrong.

2. Never, EVER touch a pregnant woman's belly without asking permission unless you know her pretty damn well. I have no problem with close friends and family rubbing the Buddha but everyone's boundaries are different. Hell, I've had complete strangers touch my stomach and it was only through a supreme act of self control that I didn't completely flip out on them even though I know they meant well.
The reasoning behind this: personal space is personal space and everyone is entitled to it.

3. NEVER, EVER, EVER ask a pregnant woman if she's expecting twins, no matter how big she may appear to you unless you are seeking an alternative to suicide by cop. This happened to me today and I'm not even that bloody big. I'm big, but not crazy big. At the very least, I deserve to be canonized for not ripping this eejit's stupid smile right off his face. Here's the Pope's mailing address for you to send your letters of support: His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI 00120 Vatican City, Italy, Europe.
The reasoning behind this: is obvious.

Health Warning: Pregnancy Boards CAN Cause Diabetes

OMG. I was wasting some time here this morning (a work situation arose I really don't want to talk about because it makes me feel rather homicidal) and I decided to check out the "What to Expect When You're Expecting" website's blogs and posting boards for women due in November.

Holy. Effing. Crapah!

These chicks have got to get a life...they end each post with a veritable waterfall of banners and pictures photoshopped to the gills with cutesy sayings. Most of their entries were made up of 5% badly spelled one-liners like "You godda be joking me!" and 95% stupid banners. This sampling isn't the worst by far and it doesn't even come close to the number of banners some of these preggo crazies have following each and every posting.









































I can appreciate how excited these women obviously are about their pregnancies (since I'm pretty frickin' stoked about Bug), but do you need 10 or more sparkly, animated, diabetes-inducing banners to express that joy? Call me crazy but I think just one might suffice...

Thirty Five

Today I hit the 35 week mark...aand I'm now 35 days away from my official due date. I feel like I should go buy a lotto ticket with the number 35 on it or something but I'm sure I'll forget all about it before I could make it to the store. Happily, I remember that I do NOT have 35 days of work left (8 of those left, including today ... cha cha cha!) so that's where the numeric coincidences end.

Baby Center's update for this week can be found here. A few things they mention that aren't accurate for me: Bug is estimated to be larger than the average (and taller), my belly button hasn't popped out although it is looking rather strrrrrrrretched these days, and I'm no longer breathless because Bug has dropped. The 3d pic and blurb are here and happily, this week my 'puter is letting me look at the picture. awww so cute.

Sigh. Today is a Monday. And, despite an earlier post when I said I no longer resent Mondays, I find myself resenting the hell out of this one. Of course, that may have something to do with my lack of sleep (now becoming chronic) rather than the day itself. Bug has now officially decided that she likes the night life and she's got to boogie...on the disco round, oh yea (and yes, that's me quoting song lyrics) Unfortunately, Bug isn't afraid to express that love of all things nocturnal in the form of dance...painful, prolonged dance that can - for some perverse reason - only take place between the hours of 10pm and 3am.

I'm quite literally sitting up at night hoping those disgusting internal popping noises I hear while she's tripping the light fantastic aren't my ribs breaking. I know that sounds like an exaggeration...but it isn't. It really, REALLY isn't. I'm going to spend my lunch hour today curled up on a loveseat here at work while hoping to God that Bug is so worn out from last night's exertions that she'll actually let me rest for a bit.

Are We There Yet?

I keep telling myself, "Today is just one of those days. Tomorrow I'll feel 100% better."

Over
and over
...and over again.

And has all this positive thinking helped? Not one everlovin' bit.

I feel nauseous, my back hurts, I'm exhausted, and my head hurts. Boo frickin' hoo, right? It comes with the territory and I know that. I know I'm supposed to suck it all up just be so excited about the joys of impending motherhood that none of this stuff gets me down but to be honest...I'm having a bad day and since I'm home alone all night, I've only got you to whine to via the miraculous interweb. (could be worse, I could be dialing your number to perform a maneuver known as the telephonic whine)

I spent an anxious couple of minutes wondering if all this was actually labour but I sincerely doubt that. All the same, I'm left to wonder....

Wheeeeeeeeen is this going to eeeeeeeeend?

I know I'm not technically ready for Bug but to hell with it! Come on down, kiddo!!!!!

Anytime now.

Eh-nee-ti-emah! Kuhum ohn dowan lihttel wun kaus yer mahmah whants tah meecha.

Where's that &%#ing Cork?

I've been wandering around now for about a week and a half to two weeks feeling like Bug is going to drop out of my va-jay-jay any moment. Sometimes the feeling is so strong, I find myself clenching my pelvic muscles in an irrational attempt to ensure I don't give birth standing on the skytrain platform or waiting in line at the grocery store...like Bug would suddenly make her debut without any of the normal fanfare otherwise known as labour pains. I know, I know...me so cwazy.

I simply can't help it though. I find myself wishing for something fantastical like a uterine cork I could insert at the beginning of each day to keep from feeling this odd and often uncomfortable sensation that my kid is going to end up dangling from me like a mitten on an idiot string while I wander around in public begging for sterile scissors. According to the Baby Center website, this is a common sensation for women who are 36 weeks along but I've been feeling this since week 32. (Trying. Not. To Panic. Now.)

I'm beginning to wonder if my child's height and weight (let's just say she's pretty tall and her estimated weight left me in a major funk over the weekend) has made her drop even sooner than normal and if that will translate into an earlier delivery. With my luck, it won't, but given how uncomfortable a sensation this is I can't help but to hope I end up giving birth soon after week 36 just so I can loosen the pelvic clamps just a little bit.

34 weeks Plus a Smidge

Sorry everyone, the turkey coma (and holiday Monday) made me forget that yesterday was time for my week 34 update.

The Baby Center update for this week is here and yes, it is really for 34 weeks. When it talks about a baby being born at week 35, they really mean "while you are in your 35th week" which is apparently where I am right now: I've completed 34 weeks and I'm now in my 35th. Confusing, n'est pas?

The 3d pic and info can be found by clicking here. I hope this link works better for you than it is for me today (I seem to be giving my computer the heeby jeebies so it won't load up anything fun like the 3d baby picture). From what I remember, it shows the baby head down now because by this time most children have moved into their birthing positions (ideally, head down, backwards). Bug seems to be a bit more anxious than the average because she's been head down for weeks on end already. Before the grandparents get all excited, just note that this doesn't mean we need to start boiling water or anything...just that she's a keener (like her mother) and highly physically co-ordinated (...most definitely UNlike her mother but thankfully, like her father). Unfortunately, she's in what's called a posterior position which means she's facing forward (looking at my belly button) which is far from ideal since it can cause back pain, back labour, and premature amniotic sac ruptures.

I went in on Friday for an ultrasound - probably my last before Buggero is born - and although she wasn't in the mood to pose for family photos, I did get to see some pretty cool stuff. I saw her take a practice breath which is where she takes amniotic fluid into the lungs using her diaphragm, I saw her kicking the crap out of my ribs (oof), and then I saw her cry. The sonographer had to push her head out of the way so she could get some pictures of my cervix and apparently Bug wasn't amused. She put on the most pissed off expression I've ever seen on a child and then made faces we were sure indicated she was having a rocking good cry, albeit a silent one. I then spent the next five minutes torn between wanting to cry myself and marvelling at how cute she is even when she's probably plotting something involving horrific DIAPER BLOWOUTS in my future.

The Hospital Bag

Apparently (according to the pregnant woman's bible called "What to Expect When You're Expecting") it is time to pack my hospital bag "just in case". A hospital bag has all those things the hospital can't or won't bring in to ensure the comfort of its patients...you know, like something to wear that doesn't show off your butt crack or a toothbrush that won't scrape the enamel off your teeth.

My list so far:

1. Buffy the Vampire Slayer poseable action figures (hours of fun there, folks!)

2. Glow in the dark "I love Donny Osmond" t-shirt

3. A portable Ipod dock that will constantly blare music by Korn, Disturbed, Linkin Park, Nine Inch Nails and the Robot Chicken song punctuated by Jingle Cats classics. (You haven't lived 'til you've heard "Hava Nagila" belted out by a thousand cats)

4. 14 pillows decorated with pictures of kittens from I Can Has Cheezburger

5. A set of Star Wars bedsheets so Bug can be born in style

6. A case of Chef Boyardee Ravioli to share with guests

7. A band saw 'cause you never know when you're gonna need one.

Other than these necessities, I'm unsure what I need to pack.

Oh well, I'm sure it will come to me eventually...like when I'm about to push and I suddenly realize I really do need that lash plumping mascara or that my scrubs are making my butt look big no matter what Scott told me earlier.

That OTHER Countdown

16.

16 more days.

16 more days of work.

16 more fantastically exciting days of workworkworkedywork before I pack up my crap and head off into the sunset for whatever amount of rest and relaxation I can squeeze in before Bug is born. (of course, I know that may amount to very little time or no time at all depending on when she decides she's blowing that popsicle stand I call my uterus but that isn't dampening my enthusiasm one little bit.)

Am I excited about the prospect of some time off before tackling motherhood? YOU BET YOUR ASSES I AM! I always knew I would be excited by the prospect of a bit of time off and then the 1 year I can spend getting to know my firstborn but there aren't even words to describe how effing excited I am. Really, at this point, it feels like I'm 6 years old and I'm counting down to Christmas. Every day, I cross off a day on my calendar with all the excitement of a kid getting to take yet another chocolate out of the Advent Calendar.

I'm looking forward to sleeping in, watching tv, taking walks anytime I want, reading, reading, reading, and then folding and refolding all Bug's cute little clothing while chatting happily away to her in my belly without any fear of people thinking I'm crazy.

I can't wait. 23 more sleeps.

33 Weeks - 49 Days To Go and Counting

Ah...Monday. It used to be a day I dreaded. I was one of those people who always had a serious case of the blahs for at least half of Sunday (because I was anticipating Monday's arrival) and the entire 24 hours of the day itself. I resented Mondays because Mondays meant I was losing my freedom and returning to the workday grind. No sleeping in. No leisurely strolls or friendly brunches. Nothing but workworkwork.

Why now do I feel pretty damn good when I come to work on Mondays? I don't wake up with a scowl. I don't growl at my cats or kick little old people on the bus just for the savage joy of watching them stumble (well...I never actually kicked the old people, but there were days when I seriously considered it because some of the Geritol Gang are just rude. And pushy. And annoying). These days I get up on Mondays and it is just another day. I head to work...plod through my day...and I don't feel angry about it. PROGRESS! (cue singing birds, rainbows and frolicking kittens)

How did this happen to me? I'll tell you how...I'm pregnant so our weekends aren't filled with party invitations followed by hazy booze-fueled bouts of silliness followed by a late morning wake up call and a trip to our favourite brunch place followed by a lazy family nap. Noooo. Our weekends are hectic, expensive, and depressingly utilitarian for the most part.
Laundry? Check.
Dishes? Check.
Groceries? Check.
Paint? Ummm...soon?
Crib, stroller, car seat, glider chair, baby clothes, diapers, changing table, diaper cream, baby tub, dresser, SNOT SUCKER, etc etc etc? ... ... ... ... (followed by the sound of a door slamming as Leigha and Scott run from the room to hide their shame)

Yeah, that pretty much describes our weekends in a nutshell. We're hitting the panic stations just in case our child fails to take after her perpetually late parents and actually makes her debut early. I admit, there is little chance of this but we're determined to be prepared. Are we done yet? Are we even close to being done? Not a friggin' chance. There are a million and one things left we still need to do, buy, move, paint, pack, donate, organize, clean, etc. before we can sit down and start feeling even remotely ready for what is to come.

In other words...we don't look at all like these two jerks I found while surfing the web looking for my weekly Baby Centre update. I noticed the picture on the 33 week intro page is of this calm looking couple who are obviously happily anticipating the arrival of their baby without a care in the world. Tra la la-de-dah. Isn't life just sooo wonderful for these two smug SOB's? Since Scott and I are NOT looking anything like these two, I feel like pulling out the handy dandy sniper rifle, hunting these two down and using them for target practice just because they've made me feel so inadequate. Justifiable double homicide, people, and I should know...I'm a lawyer.

This seems to be more in line with how things are in the Worth/Craig household right now and I'm apparently not the only one feeling the heat. Scott seems to be on his way to a full blown meltdown too.

Fun Fun Fun.

So before I degenerate into a beebling idiot, here's the Baby Center update and the 3d update and blurb can be found by clicking here.

The Eeeeew Factor

So I just couldn't help myself...I googled "SNOT SUCKER."

Aaaaaaand now I know why Carrie Bradshaw hadn't uttered that phrase on camera during the entire 6 seasons and 1 theatrical release of Sex in the City despite the fact that some of the characters had children during that time: let's just say I don't think it would be a Mr. Big magnet. In fact, I think it safe to say that Chris Noth's character would have run for the hills and never looked back had Carrie ever dared utter those those two magical words or waved one in his face with an explanation of what it was designed to do.

Meh.

"SNOT SUCKER" and the phrase "DIAPER BLOWOUT" (which means exactly what it sounds like...*shudder*) have been cropping up often for me lately and quite frankly, I'm not happy about either. But now...I have you to suffer those images right along with me and misery loooves company people so start sufferin'!