I think I'm getting to the point of being full o' baby. Like, the up to my chin with baby kind of full o' baby.
I have no idea what size I am anymore.
Shoes definitely do not fit. I tried on a pair of running shoes the other day and wanted to cry because they were far bigger than my non-pregnant feet would wear, yet they weren't big enough. And who knows how big my feet will be when they're done doubling as marshmallows?
In clothing, I'm somewhere between small and large. Like, I wear all three sizes- from the same company! Riddle me that. Most days, I think about going to a thrift shop, buying a few flat sheets, cutting a hole in the middle big enough to put my head through, and belting the sucker.I could get some lovely floral patterns, I'm sure.
So yeah, aside from feeling a little like the Stay-Puff, things are good.
I've been a nurse for almost two weeks (officially), My Sweet Husband and I are on a wild home hunt (please pray, cross your fingers, excise demons, do a rain dance, or whatever you do for good ju-ju in hopes we find one soon!!), and I am holding open auditions for foot gnomes. Or fairies. Or anyone else willing to rub my potatoes feet on command.
One thing I was a little unprepared for in my third trimester is the sensation that I am the Very Hungry Caterpillar. Like, All. The. Time.

Did you know you can rent maternity clothes?
My sister turned me on to Rent the Runway a while back. It's a site where you can rent couture clothing. Only I've had no use or it 'cause I don't go anywhere fancy. I'd be renting Oscar de la Renta and Calvin Klein dresses to vacuum the house in. And those dresses deserve better than that.
But I started thinking about renting maternity clothes back when I had my husband's Christmas party to go to. I had a bump that was not going to be concealed, no matter how hard I tried. I went shopping for dresses, but had  a really hard time justifying the price for a dress I was going to wear once. Hence my desire for renting maternity clothes.
It turns out that you can rent everything from jeans to designer dresses for far cheaper than buying most maternity clothing.
I was reminded of this in this morning's email blast that let me know I had a coupon waiting.
But what the maternity rental clothing place fails to realize is that I am to the point in pregnancy where I would like new skin. A whole new body, really.
I am not so fond of this third trimester morning sickness business. And who came up with that name anyway? They should be shot.
There are about four hours out of the day where I don't feel nauseous for hours before puking, and I am sleeping the majority of that time. Not even zofran helps.
Have I mentioned that it is awesome to be me?
I have friends running half marathons and talking about it like they do it in their sleep. I have friends running ultra marathons. I think they do it with one eye open. Me? My mega accomplishment? Making it around the block or up the stairs without huffing and puffing. And I mean waling, not running.
I caught a glimpse of myself as I ran passed some store windows while trying on running shoes (I can't seem to wedge my puffy tootsies into any of my current shoes, which makes walking challenging.

Wanna know a secret? 

I didn't go to water aerobics Thursday. I couldn't bear the thought of a) becoming a stuffed sausage getting into a swimsuit b)getting into water that wasn't immediately warm c) going anywhere.

I went for a walk around the block instead. 

I took the dogs. 

I was almost thinking I felt normal when a man stopped me to talk. More precisely, he stopped me and proceeded to yell at me from across the street about his dog and how she looked like my dogs. Except with stumpy legs. On his fourth repeat, I prayed Charlie would see a squirrel and take off after it, thus evacuating me from further attempts at conversation. 

When I finally I turned away, I began to cry uncontrollably. FOR NO REASON. 

...Stupid hormones.

Just when I was thinking I might be less cray cray today, Mike and I may have gotten into an argument. About baby laundry and which detergent to use. I don't remember all the details, but basically I was going to use All Free and Clear, like I've used forever, and he mentioned something about it being "safe for babies", and I was all "um..." and he was stressing about something else and insisting I not use the same detergent for our precious unborn, and I was amazed that he even thought about it, really.

Ten minutes later, I walked into my mom's house with an armload of baby clothes. And unlike every other female I know, she did not ask to see them. Instead, she said, "You going to do laundry? You know that All Free and Clear is safe for babies."

Faaaaantastic.

just being real

And because I finished ate an entire pint of ice cream before 11 am, I give you this:

“What is REAL?" asked the Velveteen Rabbit one day... "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When [someone] loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.

"Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand... once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.”    

In favor of being real, I share my Morning Warning:

I'm a little cranky. 

And by a little I mean that I ate an entire pint of Ben and Jerry's. The ENTIRE thing.

I've never done that before.

Today I need an emotional sign post for anyone who comes within a 25 foot radius of me. 

"I may cry uncontrollably if you look this direction"

I'm like Medusa, only backwards.

I need a second sign: 

"I'm having a hard time right now and I need to bitch about it for 2 minutes. I need you to listen, hug me, tell me that it sucks, and then offer me a drink/ offer to throat punch the offender/ offer ice cream/ offer a Kleenex/ offer diamonds or something similar."

Unfortunately for me, I did not have this sign this morning when talking to my sweet husband. (In fact, I usually forget this sign when in conversation with a man and end up regretting it.) On second thought, perhaps it is more unfortunate for him because I ended up in tears. Before 8AM. And you know it's a bad day when there's tears before 8am.

Thank heavens I get to go hang out with the Blue Hairs tonight. 

Yeah, you heard me. I'm taking a water aerobics class to avoid Mommy Butt. It's not really working (see first statement of this post), but it lets me pretend I'm not totally becoming one with the couch.

I've been going twice a week (this is week 3). The class on Tuesdays is hilarious. well, not so much the class, as me, trying to do some kind of dance routine under water.

If you've ever read this blog (or met me in real life), you probably know that I... um, see video. It explains better.

 

So yeah, Little Miss Coordination here tries to pretend I can do the watusi, electric slide, cha-cha, and whatever newfangled moves the drill sargent instructor comes up with. Tuesday it was Gangnam Style. And great Balls of Fire. And some Latin- inspired thing that my body protests. If you think cha-cha isn't so hard, I invite you to try it when you are up to your neck in water. It's just not the same. Trust.

While I don't know how many hip swivels are in store tonight, I do know I'll feel a lot better after the water boarding Fun Time With Blue Hairs is over.

Meanwhile, try to avoid looking my direction, lest you get hit by one of the involuntary lasers/ tears coming out of my eyes.

Pregnancy is weird, yo.

Confession: I've been afraid to post anything on here related to pregnancy due to an unfounded fear of my son being all "Muh-om! Gawd, you're soo embarrassing!". 

As though I could ever escape that.

The truth is, being pregnant is weird. 

That's the best I can come up with. Seriously. I've lived in a pregnant state for the last 29 weeks and all I can say is that it's weird. 

Also, I can't post anything without mentioning that I'm pregnant. If I'm talking about me, I'm talking about being pregnant. And sometimes it gets old. I like to pretend that I'm more than just a human oven (Ok, yeah, that sounds Hansel and Gretel meet the Nazis gross. Sorry.)

Being pregnant consumes me. 

I mean, discovering that my body has hidden talents, like peeing on command and growing a life is cool and all. Too often they get negated by my other talents: smelling everything and puking for no good reason.

I think I started showing when I was about 20 minutes pregnant. And to all of the kind people who point out that I am "reaaally big, and I am I sure there's only one, and oh my goodness I'm just sooo freaking huge!": 

Shut Up.

Also, I am not about to "pop". That makes me sound like I belong in the diner in Spaceballs. And there ain't no way you'll find me there. 

Ever.

I would have been really excited about my growing tits if I didn't have a melon of growing proportions stuffed under my shirt at the same time. I feel cheated out of my Playmate of the Year moment. I understand the next step is for them to be saggy and leaky. 

Note to National Geographic: thanks for skipping the leaky part.

I'm also starting to feel cheated out of my maternity clothes. Yeah, the ones I just bought. My belly is peeking out of the bottom of maternity t shirts. And shoes? I'm pretending that it doesn't matter that I have exactly one pair of shoes that fit because I can't see my feet. How do other pregnant women even wear cute shoes?? My feet and fingers sausages are so swollen, I can hardly wear socks and I mostly can't wear my rings.

And that bit everyone keeps mentioning about how lucky I am to be pregnant in winter? The downside to my face (body) not melting off is that flip flops are not quite an option... yay winter. said no one ever.

So, yeah, some if it is really not a lot of fun. I mean, who wants to go shopping when you feel like poo? Or when you discover that clothing companies think maternity means ugly prints in weird cuts (what is it with the extra-wide shouldered tank/ sleeveless shirts, color block prints and random ruffles?!) that no non-pregnant person would ever wear. 

No one likes waking up in the middle of the night to pee, because the baby is kicking, or Just Because. 

I won't get into the weirdness with food. 

except to say that the food I like, I love. 

It has never tasted so good. 

I want to eat twelve of them. It doesn't matter what it is today, because it may not be the same tomorrow. I wish I could say it's carrots that are deliciously enticing. But I'm evidently not one of those women. (Do they even exist?!) That girl went the way of my pre-preggers self. 

No, my food crush is usually ice cream, cookies, or something else that does not constitute a meal in Pregnancy Land.

On the plus side, I am growing a baby. 

And this is a really huge plus. 

I no longer think of him a a parasite, and am starting to dream of having him snuggled up against my chest. I wonder what he is doing inside of me. What is it that keeps him so busy?

Aaaand now I'm crying happy tears. 

What? Did I forgot to mention the random crying?

Excuse me while I go inhale some more ice cream.

Positive

From Sometime in September:

I stared at the little pink plus like it was an alien. 

Even though I already knew. 

What else could it be? 

I almost didn't do the test. Mr. Blue Eyes had been after me to take the test and call him all day. What kind of lunacy is that?! Take the test and call him? Seriously?! 

Sir, have we met?! Hells, no, I am not missing the expression on your face when I tell you that I am carrying your child! 

He was so ecstatic when I finally told him that I thought his face might break. 

So far, I haven't had any unusual food cravings. I have had plenty of repulsions. Oh, wait. Except for pepper. I can't stand pepper. Hate the stuff. Red pepper and especially cayenne pepper don't count because they are good. But black pepper.... I'm getting itchy thinking about it. Except that I'm not. I want it. Which is weird.

And my boobs are killing me. "Breast tenderness" was described by someone who has 

a) never had it or

b) wants to trick women into thinking that they can put up with the insanity of willingly having a parasite grow inside them for nine months. 

-PS- if you ever want to upset your baby's father, just call the mass of cells in your uterus a parasite. It works wonders. 

So yeah, my boobs hurt. And itch. And make me want to cry when I roll over in the middle of the night. 

And my pants don't fit the same. 

Who gains weight only in their stomach? oh... right. Gotcha. 

At this rate, I'll be packing a double-wide by the time this kid gets here.

We can skip the part where I am pretty sure my intestines have been replaced by a series of balloons tied in torturous knots as though they belong in the balloon animal freak show.

Also? How did I miss the part about being soooooooo tired?! 

This is not like normal tired. This is more like mono tired. 

This is more "I've been up four hours, now it is time for a two hour nap" tired. 

I am absolutely terrified as I have no idea how I will ever make it through my clinical rotation. Nights. That's when I, being a somewhat normal human, sleep. 

Not work. 

Sleep. 

I am so screwed!!

Bliss

We met on the track at the high school by my house. I was going for a "workout" (if anyone could call the way I slug around a workout!) on the track since it is flat. I totally forgot about the group that runs on Saturday mornings being there. David, the leader of the group, shouted at me from the track. As I made my way down the bleachers to greet him, I saw a man in a blue shirt that made his piercing eyes look even more stunning. He was laughing at something, and his eyes crinkled up in the corners. I quickly decided to ignore him as I was afraid I'd end up on my face.

David talked me into doing my "warm up" laps with him. "C'mon, we'll just do two laps" he said, probably not realizing that I was thinking two laps may be the extent of my workout. During our slow plod around the track, David filled me in on how everyone was running, and how this new guy came out and how great he was. After the two laps, I was seeing double and begged off. As I gasped for air, I caught sight of those eyes again, sitting on the bleachers. "Come meet Mike", said David, heading in their direction before I could respond.

The short story is that an hour and a half flew by faster than it should have.

An hour and a half. 

(A person can do a lot in an hour and half. Stuff like get a massage, wash and dry a load of laundry, play Scrabble, paint a room, clean the bathroom, visit a museum, take a bath, take a yoga class,change your oil, get a haircut...)

When I finally got home, I couldn't stop grinning.

When David mentioned Mr. Blue Eyes' name on bookface, my grin grew. When Mr. Blue eyes sent me a friend request, I about peed myself. When he sent me a message, I dropped my phone. When he asked me to dinner, I ran around the house screaming like a high school girl. And then I pulled myself together and met him for dinner in under 45 minutes. 

After the restaurant closed, we sat on the back of my truck, talking, until three in the morning. The only thing that caused me to go home was the promise of a date the following morning.

I have been stumbling around in a state of ridiculous bliss since that Saturday.