I have just now learned that a couple of my girlfriends have declared this to be “The Year of Cunnilingus.” Do with that what you will. But, for the love of God, don’t tell me about it.
Have I mentioned lately how pregnant I am? Ohmahgah. I am so pregnant. I am at the point where people look upon me with pity and ask with hope in their voices if I’m almost through. You know what’s crazy though? I’m NOT almost through. If I make it to 40 weeks (unlikely) I will be pregnant for another 2.5 whole months. Sweet Fancy Moses. Being this pregnant is really itchy. That’s one of the things I had not forgotten from last time. It started with a vengeance about a week ago. I’m at the point where I have to get up in the middle of the night not just to pee, but to reapply body butter. (Thank you Jesus for Body Shop Body Butter. Amen.) The itching. And the peeing. And the heartburn. Oy.
You know, there are women out there who just loooooooove being pregnant. God bless them. Each and every Buddha bellied one of those mamas. They should all be surrogates and have babies for the all the nice ladies out there who can’t. I AM NOT ONE OF THOSE WOMEN. I don’t hate it or anything. But I can say with a lot of confidence that I like being unpregnant, and all the sleeping and walking normal and peeing once at bedtime that goes with unpregnancy. Thank you.
There are some things I do like about being pregnant though. Like, getting rid of all my belts and not having to tuck my shirt in ever. And watching the baby roll around and stick his little hands and feet out so that my stomach goes all cattywampus. My outie bellybutton. Eating dessert whenever I want. Wearing flip flops all the time, even when it’s totally inappropriate and then being all, “Just TRY to make me wear shoes” about it. Naps. The way older women smile when they see you waddling down the street. The way Mr. G and Sweet Pea talk into the bellybutton microphone.
Ok, I should stop or you’re going to think I was lying when I was complaining about the itching and peeing and heartburn. Those things really do suck. And I don’t need to remind anyone about the 17 weeks of all day long sickness hell. Do I? Suffice to say, it was hell.
Anyway, that kind of came out of nowhere. Hormones I suppose. I fluctuate between schmoopy and bitchy pretty readily these days. And that was slightly more interesting than what I was going to post about Sweet Pea falling into a toilet in the Spokane airport on Sunday. (Shudder.)
And with that, I’m out.