I have a confession: I hate the month of January. Always have. So what- it's cold and it snows. Big deal. Christmas isn't for another 11 months so there's no sense in getting excited about snow anymore. And the Christmas cards that once filled the mailbox have now been replaced with Christmas BILLS. (I'm convinced I have selective short-term memory loss. Really?? I spent THAT much?!) And what else could make the dismal, depressing month of January seem any longer? Getting it on with your husband at the end of the previous May, which apparently gives your little belly-dweller a due date in the first half of February. Yep, I just went there. (I mean, could we NOT have thought about shooting for the end of March and giving ourselves a nice little tax deduction? NOOOooo.) But, because sitting down with a calculator and a bottle of lube isn't exactly an appropriate (or romantic) form of foreplay, we wound up getting ourselves a little pre-Valentine's Day lovebug.
So the countdown is set: 3 weeks- possibly/hopefully/"please-dear-God-in-Heaven" even less- until we meet our little boy. Sometimes, it feels like a dream. And then suddenly, I cough and pee a little and nope, not a dream. I'm fully awake (and now incontinent to boot).
And in keeping with the cough/sneeze/laugh and pee conundrum, a few other things that tell me I'm solidly in the homestretch...
1. Performing the "is this pee or amniotic fluid?" sniff test every day, sometimes several times a day. Sorry, but I don't own any of those dipsticks they give you at the hospital to tell for sure whether or not your water has broken and God gave us noses for a reason. (For the record, you can be assured you've reached a whole new level of security in your marriage when your husband walks in your bedroom to find you holding a pair of underwear to your face and he doesn't even bat an eye anymore).
2. You begin to measure everything in contractions. As in, "I have to walk all the way to the back of the store to get the waffles?? That's a good 3 braxton hicks away...*sigh*" Today, I calculated that a loop around my neighborhood is precisely .9 miles (or approximately 13 braxton hicks). I didn't test it out to see if it was correct though. Math is not my strong point.
3. The belly stares. Not many people seem to acknowledge that I even have a head anymore and I actually find it pretty entertaining. The other day, I walked up to pay for my groceries and the cashier guy looked at me as if I might actually be crowning at that very moment. Maybe I should have asked for a separate bag for the placenta...
4. I waddled up to the bar in one of my favorite local cafes and ordered myself a lovely glass of Cabernet. Then- amidst curious stares- waddled over to a table and very slowly and unsteadily lowered myself into the chair. And then I sat with the glass perched tediously on my belly and let my eyes glaze over as I prepared to enjoy it- all by myself. This is another sign of entering the last month of pregnancy, which is what I also like to call the "I could really give a flying rat's @$$ what you think" month.
5. I can't read stories to Ella anymore without completely losing it. Currently on the "banned" book list are: "I'm a Big Sister," "Guess How Much I Love You?" "Corduroy," and "Love You Forever" (that last book especially does me in, no matter how creepy I think it is that a mother breaks in to her gown-up son's home to hold him in the middle of the night). So Jake does those books with her. Until Milo is born and the hormones calm down, Mommy is relegated to stories about potties, trees, bugs and poop.
6. Every time I've gone to the grocery store recently, I have a moment- albeit brief- when I look at the motorized scooters and have to talk myself down. In my mind, I picture myself zipping right to the bakery for some snickerdoodles and noshing away as I fulfill the rest of my shopping but I would feel pretty bad if an old gray-haired woman with an oxygen tank came shuffling up and there was no scooter to be found. (But then again, maybe I'd just offer her my snickerdoodles for her inconvenience).
7. During my 3rd trip to the bathroom last night, I distinctly remember sitting on the toilet thinking, " I can't WAIT to have this baby so I can get some sleep." And then I had a good chuckle, all by myself in the bathroom- a fine demonstration of what the combination of sleep deprivation and raging pregnancy hormones will do to you by week 37. So sleep is a thing of the past. But if I'm gonna lose it, I'd much rather lose it to an adorable baby boy than to my overworked bladder and sciatic nerve.
Yes, it's true that 21 days is but a drop in the bucket compared to the 252 that are under my belt. So it's onward and upward (even if it's at my new leisurely pace of 3 mph). Getting closer...
I love you!!
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