The Advantages of Being 40+ Weeks Pregnant
Being overdue can really suck. Let’s face it. It’s pretty much like being a kid on Christmas morning. You wake up, realize it’s Christmas, run down the stairs expecting to find all kinds of awesome, when you really find someone sitting there that says, “Hey kid, not today; but don’t be discouraged. It could happen anytime within the next two weeks.”
On my due date, Mr. BBM sent me for a 1 hour pregnancy massage. It was all kinds of wonderful. I told her to hit any accupressure points that would help bring labor on and she did. She said that if it works, it would happen within 48 hours. It’s been more than 48 hours now. . . and nothing.
In an effort to keep a positive attitude, I’ve come up with a list of advantages to being overdue. Yes, you heard me. . . advantages. Believe it or not, there are some.
No one expects pretty much anything of you. What they do expect is that you will be a complete and total couch potato. Also, frequent naps are no longer frowned upon as laziness. They are necessary. I mean, who’s really going to wake a sleeping giant, especially one who is over-due?
There’s no need to find a coaster when you’re hanging out on the couch with a good book. Your belly makes a fine table-top. Also, it’s a great book prop. If I could just get the baby to use his feet to turn the pages, I’d be in major business.
I never have to look around for the remote. In fact, it’s right under my chin, pretty much all the time.
There’s no need for a table for the popcorn when watching a movie with the family. The belly also serves as a wonderful TV tray.
No time to find a table to write on when taking a quick phone message? No problem.
You don’t need to worry about belly button lint. Heck, you don’t have to worry about even having one anymore. There’s just a funny stretched out area where the belly button used to live, sort of like the artist formerly known as Prince. The skin formerly known as a belly button. . .
You can be as grumpy and miserable as you want to be, and lash out at anyone you want to without consequences. Who’s going to argue with a pregnant person who is about to burst? Unless they’re a complete idiot, no one.
Finally, tonight I’m going to Big I’s swim meet. Think I won’t have my pick of where to sit? Leg room too? That’s right. Who would be stupid enough to sit anywhere near someone who looks like me?
Miserable? Check.
Likely to have my water break all over you? Check.
I can pretty much clear a room, or at least a section on the bleachers big enough to accommodate me and any mess I might make. Besides the mess part, there aren’t that many people who want to be near me when they might have to help deliver a baby. And I happen to like my own personal space. It’s definitely a huge advantage.
Finally, when people ask you when you’re due and you say, “two days ago,” there’s no shortage of compliments on how amazing you look. I mean, if you’re two days overdue and you’re out in public, you’re practically a super hero. It’s nice to be admired (pitied. . . whatever).
Happy Birthday to my Sassy
On Tuesday, Sassy turned 6. Where does the time go? My current “baby” has turned into such a big girl in the past couple months. She went from being a shy little girl who didn’t want to talk to anyone, to being super talkative and out-going. She is so her mama’s child. She is notorious for making friends with waitresses and cashiers. She has no problem raising her hand and talking to her teacher at school.
When she started Kindergarten this year, I was worried. In our district, it’s full day and it’s a long one. I was worried that she wouldn’t handle it well; but she has thrived. By the end of the week, she is definitely exhausted and minding the long days and getting up in the morning; but she is doing so well. She takes books to school and reads them to her class. She’s been working so hard at learning how to read. The way she picks things up just amazes me. She has such a love of learning; and it’s transferred into the pool too.
A month ago, Sassy started swimming in the club program where her sister swims. One of the youngest of the group, she is holding her own. She can do all four strokes (not entirely legally yet, but she’s getting there); she’s learned how to dive and she wants to go three times a week despite the fact that I was initially only going to take her once or twice. She adores her coaches and thinks of them as not only that, but also as friends. She is constantly telling them “knock-knock” jokes, relaying what she did in school that day, or telling them some other imaginative story.
It is nearly impossible not to just love her, because she is such a sweetheart. This past month has been tough for me, because I’ve lost my shopping and hanging out buddy. She was always up for going grocery shopping with me; she is always helping me out. Two weeks ago, I came home to find her standing in the laundry room, folding clothes. I can’t crack an egg in this house without her offering to help me cook. I have little doubt that I will have a “little Mommy” in the house as soon as this baby is born.
A week ago, I was complaining that Mr. BBM never rubs my feet anymore. I got the star treatment when I was pregnant with Big I; but 10 years and 3rd pregnancies don’t warrant the kind of foot-rubbing action I would like. Two seconds later, Sassy was asking Mr. BBM to get down the lotion from the shelf so she could rub my feet for me.
She is an absolute doll, and I just know that she is going to be an amazing big sister to this little guy (if he ever decides to show up). She is already talking about how she’s going to read him books. I swear that is half of the reason she has taken such an interest in learning how to read all of a sudden. She is always thinking about others.
I know that when this baby is born, Sassy is going to look like a giant to me, the same way Big I looked to me when I had Sassy. But inside, she will always be my baby girl. Happy 6th Birthday Sassy! With every year, you’re more awesome than the year before and I can’t wait to see what the next year holds.
No News is No News
Yesterday, Mr. BBM came upstairs from his office to find me sprawled out on the kitchen floor in front of my kitchen island. Surrounded by baking dishes, trays, serving dishes and cooling racks, I pleaded with him, “Help me.”
He told me he was just up for a quick break. He had another conference call and he couldn’t help me.
“No,” I whined at him, “not ‘help me’ with the cabinet; help me STOP cleaning and organizing. Make me STOP!”
“Why?” he said. “The only thing left to do is the basement and garage.”
And then, because I checked a little box on BlogHer that said I won’t swear on my blog, I said something that I can’t say here. Mr. BBM nearly lost it laughing; but I meant what I said. I have had it.
In the past couple weeks, I have organized two linen closets, a coat closet, an entire laundry room and every kitchen cabinet. My entire house has been vacuumed and steam mopped, dusted and wiped clean. I have broken fingernails to show for it and a back that is just killing me constantly, although I can’t tell if that’s from all the steam mopping or the torpedo of a stomach I’m sporting these days.
What appears to be just a thin layer of skin covering legs and arms and baby butt is stretched beyond all comprehension. I itch; I’m tired and I am so done.
Tomorrow is my official due date. Today I go to see the midwife. She said last week that I might be able to convince her to try to strip my membranes today (sounds like all kinds of fun, huh?). We tried this with Sassy six years ago (Yes, six. It was her birthday yesterday) and it didn’t work at all. Did I mention there were two attempts at that? So, you can understand why, even if they’re willing to try to help a girl out, I’m not optimistic that it will work.
After I was awakened at 5 a.m. with a contraction and killer need for a trip to the bathroom, I started looking up massage people on my phone. The thing is though, I can’t even really make an appointment, because who knows if I’ll be able to make it!
I have decided that the whole “Third babies come early and fall out” theory is just a complete and utter bunch of garbage. Whoever said that did not realize that my insides must be like the Taj Mahal. Why would any baby want to move out?
I was reading the “labor” chapter of one of my pregnancy books this week, to refresh my memory as to the pain I’ll be experiencing soon. In it, the author writes that you can tell you’re ready to go when your once round stomach, develops corners. I’m an octagon, and I am ready to go.
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