I don't know if I got lucky when I was pregnant with Olivia or what but I loved that shit. I could not get enough. I wanted to go fully to 42 weeks, I felt so fantastic. But my other two pregnancies have turned me into some sort of crazy miserable homeless-looking/smelling hag that is virtually unrecognizable.
First of all, I smell like pee. Because I pee my pants a little all.day.long. It started around 29 weeks and is going strong at 38 weeks 5 days. This is amazing to me because I pee approximately 148 times a day and yet there still seems to be some amount of pee left to make me seriously consider a package of Depends on my next shopping trip.
Then, the swelling. Not to be confused with The Weight Gain ZOMG. I held on to a good 30 pounds from my last pregnancy, and I've gained just shy of 30 this time, which is fine. I'll lose it. But add that together with swelling and I look like Gwyneth Paltrow in Shallow Hal. I look in the mirror and it looks like someone added fake fat padding to my face and ankles. I'm only 5"1' so, things are getting muy rotund.
(I know how much some people looooove when pregnant people complain about being fat. I also don't care. I can barely move at this point.)
So anyway, the swelling was getting to be epic by noon every day, so I started to wear tennis shoes with my business casual outfits at work everyday. I was, like, two pounds away from being a total mall walker. And nothing says professional like a mall walker handling your official business.
Good thing I have been on maternity leave since the beginning of April. You know, super high blood pressure and super swollen feet and a little bit of protein? After you delivered your last pregnancy (identical twin, stillbirth, raging preeclampsia OH MY) with much drama at 32 weeks? Will buy you maternity leave at 31 weeks. It has helped, too. My blood pressures and protein with more rest have been normal. The swelling, though...not so much.
I'm fairly certain that my OB (who I love seriously) thinks that I am completely cray cray ridiculous. I was telling him a month or so ago about my crotch pain, which I call Lightning Crotch. You know, those horribly sharp pains that come from nowhere like someone is stabbing you right in your Lady Business? A term which he found to be pretty funny. He says that he is going to go on using the medical terminology which I think is stupid but, whatever.
It is hotter than hades in my part of Ohio right now, which is completely fun and awesome especially when I am down to one pair of pants and 4 shirts that fit. My belly has dropped so low that, no matter what I wear, about 3 inches of my newly stretch-marked stomach (seriously, I had a TWIN pregnancy with zero stretch marks) hangs down and out in all its glory. Yesterday, I had a desperate need to go to the store and buy fruit, I had to wear an old sun dress with yoga pants and tennis shoes. And then I didn't even bother to fix my hair or look at my face because why bother, at that point.
So basically the message now that I'm full term is: GET OUT OMG GET OUT. Yes, I'm glad to be full term with a pregnancy that required no sort of science, no I don't want a preemie or any NICU time, and insert whatever the appropriate disclaimer is for this statement but still. GET.OUT.
I've had two days where I had ouchy but irregular contractions that got me all hot and bothered for the official baybee eviction but that ultimately went nowhere. I have a c-section scheduled for Tuesday morning which feels like a million years away. Olivia wants to play with me nonstop and I am so uncomfortable that I can't which she doesn't understand because she is three and wants whatever she wants right goddamned now.
(Which, come to think of it, I am acting very much like my three year old regarding this whole GET OUT thing.)
Yesterday I ate 6 ice cream sandwiches. Today I might eat 6 more. I should stop buying ice cream sandwiches so that I don't look like Gwyneth in Shallow Hal.
I am ready to meet this baby. Hopefully I don't eat it, too.