Since it appears that I talk about my pregnancy every hour of every day, and on here every Monday (ya know, whatever gets my big belly through the day) I have dubbed it “Maternity Monday”
So let’s get on with it.
My baby is 6 inches long and 7 ounces. Which is enough tequila to make for an interesting night until you get sick, if you’re into that kinda thing. And 6 inches is…… well, half the length of a ruler (I’m tired, it’s Monday, don’t judge). The baby is now fully assembled and functioning with appropriate proportions and everything. The rapid-fire development of this exercise is now complete. Let’s celebrate with one of those tequila shots, shall we? I kid, I’m really more of a rum gal.
This weekend I started crying for an unknown reason, and decided to put my mind to good use taking the painter’s tape down from our nursery to distract myself. It worked eventually, I was just glad that Angel wasn’t home to witness this one so I didn’t have to explain that I really had no idea why I was crying except that my dog just brought me her favorite toy. Her favorite toy! For me! How sweet was that?!
So, moods?….. check
Shit’s getting real. I now have a belly that warrants at least the question “Is she pregnant, or a closet carb lover?” which is a question above where I’ve been the last 18 weeks! We find out (hopefully!) in about 24 hours if I’m busy cooking a son or daughter in here, and I’m starting to notice a serious pattern to baby kicks and movements: 30 minutes between 9 and 11am, a kick or two around lunch time, a kick or two around dinner time, and 20 minutes right when I’m going to bed as well as waking me up with a swift kick if I roll onto my back in my sleep (apparently this munchkin appreciates not being cut off from umbilical cord blood as much as I appreciate a good night’s sleep).
Pregnancy books all talk about how important physical activity is, but they clearly weren’t written by a moody pregnant chick living in Phoenix in the summer. Since swimming is exercise, I bent the rules a bit and took a 30 minute nap on a floating raft with Molly at my feet. I got outside, I moved/floated, it counts. I’m way too busy sleeping and crying to have time to be active anyway, so I tore those pages out of the book and made some cute origami with them.
Because I can’t be sarcastic 100% of the time, allow me a service announcement here: Pregnancy will, guaranteed, multiply whatever you have with your spouse. If you bicker about the trash, be ready to scream over it. If you love each other, be ready to love each other more. I’ve heard it before, but I swear it’s true. Sometimes I’m ready to throw the whole damn trash can at Angel, but more often than not I find myself thinking how I got so lucky to find someone so sweet to me. He’s been such a trooper with my sleeping all of the time, needing to take breaks when we’re out doing anything, calling him at work to ask him to pick me up a jar of Vlassic Crunchy Dill Spears on his way home, asking him to carry things up and down the stairs like he’s a Sherpa, and I’m sure I’m missing the other 1,000 things a day that he’s great about. A $5 bottle of water while we’re out running errands? Sounds totally reasonable to him if I’m thirsty. I’ve never once heard him complain or argue with my seemingly crazy requests. Instead, we cuddle on the couch with Molly on my leg and Angel’s hand on my belly waiting for baby kicks and watching HBO like an adorable little domestic family. Who cares about the dirty dishes? They’ll still be there tomorrow and I’ll get around to them then.
Pregnancy will only multiply what you have- be it good or bad.
I’m lucky to have a good thing going on.