Growing a Baby

I think blogging is turning into my naptime therapy. At almost 35 weeks along, I’m becoming increasingly limited and just when I'm positive I’ve reached absolute maximum discomfort I am proven wrong. DUH, I have weeks to go! Anyway, since I’m doing a lot more nothing than usual and since I never turn on the TV during the day (that would defeat the purpose of quiet naptime) it’s been fun to sit at the computer and take my mind off “How long can this contraction last?” or “Oww” or “Are you kidding me? How am I supposed to walk?” How I envy those pregnant women who glow from start to finish and say the hardest part of pregnancy is giving birth. Last night I laid on the living room couch until 3:30 a.m. and fantasized about giving birth. I couldn’t sleep on my go-to side because the baby was stuck in my ribs, yet laying on my other side cut off my breathing so…what option remains? Ask Rick and he’ll say ‘throwing a fit, snatching random pillows and “stomping” down to the couch.’ Surely, he’s as anxious for the next 5 ½ weeks to pass as I am. On second thought, that would be impossible, but I’m sure he’s looking forward to it. Anyway, as I’m becoming increasingly lame, I’ve noticed a weird catchphrase emerging.

“Mom, why are you so tired?”
“I’m growing a baby.”

“Wow, mom, you’re tired! Were you really busy today?”
"Yes, plus I’m growing a baby. Can you pick that up for me?”

“Rick, thanks for folding the laundry again. Sorry I’m such a lame-o.”
“You’re not a lame-o, you need to hold still.” (I think this is code for ‘It hurts my eyes to see you [insert any verb].’)
"(whine) But I can’t get anything done. It’s pathetic.”
“You just relax.”
“Well, I am growing a baby.”

When I really think about it, that’s exactly what I’m doing, late night fits and all. So maybe today while my nerves are making me limp around like a 90-year old and later when my bruised insides are preventing me from finding anything close to a sleepable position, I just need to let those words ring through my head. I’m growing a baby. I’m growing a baby. Really, that’s big stuff. And probably not pathetic at all, even with loads (get it? loads?) of evidence to the contrary. So maybe I can deal with Tracy-slo-mo a bit longer, especially knowing “slo-mo” will be long gone once little no-name (I’m calling him ‘Jolt’ today, short for [jolt]“OW!”) joins the fam. I do believe I’m finally looking forward to it. And I’ll be able to pick things up myself. 5 ½ more weeks. I think I can... I think I can...