Now it's so obvious I'm pregnant and not just fat all over, I'm getting stopped by strangers who curiously want to know my due date. I say "July 2nd" every time, hoping that the original due date, will actually come true (even though baby is measuring mid June) the more I say it, the more I make it so. July 2nd is perfect for several reasons, it starts a long weekend, it's perfect for out of town family to be around when baby is born and I also get a $3,000 pay out from Aflac if I can hold the sucker in until then.....See, I signed up for additional coverage from Aflac when Mr. Price and I were going to go for #2. Long story short, according to the policy I signed in September, I cannot deliver on or before July 1st if Momma's gonna get paid. No need to go into it further, but us Price's are cutting it close. Duct tape and sedentary lifestyle are at my beck and call. Walking from my car to my office chair is as much as I'm gonna do. Keep your fingers and toes crossed.
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| Mmmmm, lunch with a side of tums, please. |
I've got gastric reflux for the first time in my life. I'm maxing out my tums allocation each day and the munching of the chalky pathetically flavored discs in my mouth, is marginally soothing. I'm not sure if it's heartburn, acid reflux, or whatever, it's something that's supposed to be staying down, coming back up and stopping me from eating like a horse at all times of the day and night. I want to eat, but reflux says no. So mostly I just keep eating and complain all night long, along with sleeping with seven pillows. Mr. Price has every right to be a jealous husband, those pillows (especially the ones in between my legs and my back) provide me with so much comfort and pleasure, the only thing they'd need to do to out rank my hubster, is offer me mini eggs on a platter and foot massages until I feel asleep each night.
I'm not going to get graphic, but I look down and only see my baby belly. Shaving... anywhere that I used to shave has become not only a hassle but a down right yoga type experience with legs and and things positioned in a way that would make the karma sutra look like sitting on the couch. Oh yeah, and then I can't shave, so my legs are all over filled with unexepcted patches of tiny hair pricks, but also the dry party has come to town and there's not enough aloe or moisturizer in Bath and Body Works to satisfy my flaky skin. I'm apparently part snake, as each day I shed old dry skin. Gross.
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| The view from up here. Nice for resting the Xbox remote on, not much else. |
I need a pedicure so badly I think there's at least three different colors on my toes as I sheepishly try to cover up the previous coat with a darker newer coat, knowing that I have between 30 seconds and 2 minutes before I pass out from not being able to breathe by bending over my baby belly, so precious time cannot be wasted by removing a previous layer of polish, I only have time to do one or the other. Nail clipping is a priority, I don't like those babies to get nasty, but it's tough and it makes me want to whine some more, more of what Mr. Price loves to hear.
I'm running out of clothes. I'm determined not to buy clothes for only 2 months left, but my bump has a long way to go. Stretchy dresses are a must have and there's nothing cute. I can't go for cute when getting dressed each day, I can only go for what fits. It's depressing. Not that I was ever able to put that much thought into what I wore each day (sleeping was always a much higher priority) I just don't even have the option now. I can always put more make up on. But that's truly putting lipstick on a pig.
I actually want to exercise, like go walking and maybe work up a litle sweat, but I'm so convinced that sitting and watching Family Guy re-runs is my only golden ticket to my $3K, that I calmly sit my ass back down. I WANT to lose some of that kankle fat, but money's more important.
There's cellulite in places I didn't think it could actually be. It's devestating to look at your wrists and think that they're fat, but still the skinniest place on your swollen body. That, along with my arm flap fat that could have me join a flock of geese at any moment but my less than aerodynamic shape and sheer weight would prevent me from doing so.
Sleep is for people who have nannies. Waking up 7 or more times a night to pee, or getting back in bed, then immediately turning around again to go back as baby decides to rest on your bladder again, is a common occurence. I'd be great for my neighborhood watch program if I wasn't so forgetful these days. I could see my police report now.... "It was 2am, no, wait 2:30am, no, the fourth time I got up to pee, which would have been around midnight, but it wasn't a long pee, just a short one to help get me back to sleep, so it was definitely the second time I went at 2:30, because the blue, I mean, red, well, it could have been white Honda, or wait, was it a silverado truck, squealed out of the driveway before delivering donuts to my mother's house... oh wait, sorry officer, that was a dream I had. I'm not really sure I saw anything... ..." On a night I get up to pee only 4 times, is the closest I'll ever get to a good night's sleep for a long time. Of course it doesn't help with the five gallons of water I have to drink after my nutella sandwich midnight and 3 am snack, but still, life is cruel at this moment.
If anyone is going to write "It's all worth it in the end." I'll drive to where you live, maybe knock on your door or ring your doorbell, before punching you in the throat. Of course it is you moron. I know that. Life's about the journey, not the the place where you get to when you're done with 9 months of puking, feeling miserable, and fat and taking everything in general out on your usually mostly undeserving husband. But I don't care. I'm pissed, I'm 8 months pregnant and it's all so close, but still so far away.
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