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.