So, I am 36 weeks! Really 36-and-a-half, if you’re counting, and I am SO. Counting. And 36-and-a-half weeks of miserable.
Make no mistake, I am thankful to be pregnant, and I am thankful for my baby boy and what he will mean to our family.
But dudes, I am a real person, and I am real sick of being pregnant. I’ve had a headache since yonder about 2 a.m. Thursday morning and I’m worried about my blood pressure which is borderline. (Worrying about your borderline blood pressure does not do much to help it go down, by the way.) Last night I had to leave Joshua’s Christmas program early because the whole right side of my body was numb, the seats being so uncomfortable for my grotesque proportions that every way I tried to sit was painful. I was watching my fingers get fatter, I was having hard Braxton-Hicks, and it was just very unsettling. So I felt like Mother of the Year. He was SO excited about the program. Daddy and Grandma stayed to watch, and Sophie and I headed home so I could get in bed (where she obliged me with some very nice snuggles!)
Up til this week I have actually been sleeping pretty well, not just for a pregnant person, but for ME in general. But this week I have slept very poorly, waking every couple of hours with sore hips and a sore belly, trying to rearrange my five pillows around me so that I can get comfortable enough to go back to sleep for a few. I. am. tired.
Of course, because of my discomfort, I am jonesing to be un-pregnant. But there’s always a paradox. I also don’t want Jonah to come early. Not just because we still have a few things to do to get ready for him, but because I want him to cook as long as he needs to. I’ll be having a c-section a few days before my “official” due date, and I want him to be as healthy and strong as possible.
So anyways. I think it’s time to tuck in and hibernate as much as possible. That’s what Mama Bears do when it gets cold, right? ‘Cause man it got cold this week! And my extra layer of fat is NOT keeping me warm! Just grumpy.
