33 WEEKS + umm....what?

First things first.

Here we have a 33 week-ish pregnant belly, which looks a lot like it did at 32 weeks.  I definitely feel like I'm getting bigger, but I don't feel like I look it.  I didn't realize until a week after it happened that I am now officially 8 months pregnant, which ended up being one of those moments where I'm suddenly transported back to the second I first found out I was going to have a baby (and kind of wanted to slap the doctor for not being as dumbfounded as I was) and thinking "how did this happen?!" 

But it did, and I am, and there's nothing I can do about it.  Except make this face.

Actually that's not my "I can't believe I'm 8 months pregnant" face; it's my "I want pad thai so bad I could cry" face.

I didn't even know my face could look like that until I took the picture.

And now, sadly, I must end this enlightening post because a) I really might start crying if I don't eat something, and b) I have actual work to do today.  No darling, do not protest.  Just go.

32 WEEKS

Yes, that's Frodo in the background, unfortunately, and not Faramir.

Looking at this picture, I have to convince myself that it's real.  My brain cannot make the shape of my body make sense -- like when you see a really hugely fat person and can't reconcile how their body relates to itself?  Sorry, that was mean.  But you know you've had that thought before.

Early in my pregnancy one of the things I did to make sure I stayed sane and to make it more real for me was at the beginning of each week I would google how many weeks I was and read about all the things that were going on.  Like how I should expect to feel and what new thing was developing in the baby.  It was something I looked forward to.  It helped measure the time for me when I wasn't showing and couldn't feel the baby move yet.  These days, though, it's been like reading the same week over and over again for weeks now.  "Because of blah and blah you can expect to feel heartburn and back pain!"  Like it's news.  I guess even the websites know that at this point it's basically just a patience game, nothing really exciting until the Big Moment of Doom & Awesomeness.

So Week 32 isn't much different from the last few weeks, except that I'm getting more protusiony and less comfortable.  Plus the mounting anticipation which is becoming just one more entity growing inside me.  Suddenly starting to get really nervous about the hospital, for some reason.  I've never been hospitalized before, so it's probably just fear of the unknown.

In other news, The Two Towers is my least favorite of the movie adaptations.  I'm thinking of rereading the series.  My dad gave us a copy of Man's Search for Meaning for Christmas, and while I'm really interested in it and love that sort of thing to read, it's been a little too intense for my poor, fragile emotions.  I think I'll do better reading about intense things that haven't actually happened to people.

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P.S.

In case you think I'm content to let my blog design be horrible, rest assured that I am indeed in the midst of a redesign (still.)  I currently lack the mental capacity or desire to try and figure out html junk, and I'm stumped creatively as well.  So, you know, pardon the dust and stupid layout.

THE TORTURE BUN

Well since everyone seems content to pretend like this hairstyle isn't just the most torturous thing to do to a head, I feel the universe is telling me it's my duty to pose the question:

Who in the seven hells has a scalp that can withstand this?

Ladies and gentlemen, I assure you, there is nothing fun about this bun.  Not only does it look like a badly proportioned hair hat for a very strict schoolteacher, but it is the least fun thing to put on the top of your head.  Why are these models and hipster hair people trying to convince the world that hair doesn't weigh anything?  Have you ever had as much hair as is required to do this hairstyle?  Let me tell you: hair weighs a lot.  And let's be honest here.  Does anyone enjoy themselves when their hair is pulled that tight?

Maybe I'm a big baby.  IT'S POSSIBLE.  But I tried this once.  I pulled and gathered and combed all my miles of hair into a ponytail right smack on the top of my head like an idiotic troll doll, and then I twisted and wrapped and pinned it into some kind of bun shape.  And then I had a literal headache for the rest of my life. 

I am not fooled by you, fashion world.  Anyone who says they can wear this hairstyle for longer than it takes to insert the last bobby pin without going blind from the pain is either lying or is actually a robot bent on the destruction of reason.  Either way, they must be stopped.

THE GREAT PAINTED RUG

This feeling of finishing things I start is way way good.  Like put it in a bowl and pour milk on it and eat it every morning good.

I suckerpunched that painted rug out of the way, and now I'm going to show it to you.

Here's an in-progress shot:

It took way more paint and time than I thought it would, but all told it wasn't very much/long.  Maybe one half to three quarters of that quart of paint, and probably but not quite an hour?  I mean, it was a labor of love, don't get me wrong.  Scooting my fat belly back and forth across that rug got old halfway through, which is why we have this picture at all.

Anecdotal side note: Tony was making mac & cheese while I was painting, and when he came in to check on me he said "It looks like mac & cheese," which it does, and I know that's what I'm going to think of every time I look at it.  Which kind of makes it less charming, in my opinion?

Anyway, here's the finished bedazzling, NOT mac-and-cheesey masterpiece:

 Shazam!

Including this angle so you can see the yellow with the grey wall.  I think it looks smashing.

Including this angle because why the heck not?  Also it's a nice detail shot.  I was nervous going into the actual painting because I wasn't certain the paint wouldn't bleed under the tape, and I was very much not certain it wouldn't look like crap once it was done.  I mean, those lines are not perfectly spaced, people.  So I held my breath when I ripped the first bit of tape off, and lo and behold but I was pleased!  Not only did the lines hold perfectly, but you can't even tell that there is very little precision going on.  (Well, maybe you can, but don't tell me that.  I'm perfectly content seeing what I want to see.)  Even Tony stood back and said "To be honest, I didn't think it was going to work."  Confidence appreciated, sir.

So, some things if I were to do this again, or if I were smarter the first time around:

1. The paint is a little rough to the bare foot.  We're hoping it'll break in with some wear and maybe some vigorous rolling up of the rug, but I suspect if I had mixed in some sort of fabric medium with the paint maybe this wouldn't be a problem?

2. Um...I can't think of any more.  Brain cells, you know.

For those interested, the paint I used was Sun Ray by Behr, in a flat enamel finish.  I didn't want paint with a gloss to it because I thought it would look weird, and the flat enamel is (supposedly) much more durable than straight up flat, which is good because it's a rug and all.

Thursday the man with all the tools mounted my curtain rods, so next on the list is: curtains, and blinds for that one window.

And that's that.

DREAMS

I had a dream last night that we had twins.  They were just born (our bishop delivered them via c-section, because in my dreams he's a doctor, apparently.)  They were so tiny, a boy and a girl, and we kept them on the floor by our couch under blankets.  I would pick one up and hold it to my chest, trying to make it feel safe and warm because it was crying, but the thing is no one else cared about these little crying things.  There were a lot of people around, family, but everyone seemed distracted by something else.  I was trying to process my own thoughts about everything.  You know, just having had babies and all.  I tried to explain how my belly kind of missed having them inside, how it felt a little lonely even though I could hold them in my arms.  But there was too much chaos and no one had time to listen.  People just seemed annoyed by it, and it made me sad.

Then I woke up, and was still sad, but glad that we're only having one. 

I don't know, maybe it was my subconscious telling me that my blog readers are sick of hearing about pregnancy junk. 

A few days ago I had another dream that our baby was born (just the one this time), and he was scared, and the only way I could make him feel better was to hold him snuggled into my chest upright.  And I had the thought that maybe he just doesn't like being upside down and that's why he's breech.  I can't really blame him.  I mean, do you like being upside down?  For months? 

I know I missed my 31 week post this week.  I briefly considered getting up just now to take a late belly picture but I've been kinda dizzy all morning so I think I'm just gonna sit here on the couch and not do that. 

Guys, I just really love this baby already.  I know hearing people gush about personal things they're going through gets old quick, but I can't contain myself.  Poor little dude's just here suddenly, relying on me to take care of him, and I know someday I'll get over it and we'll be a normal family, but right now it's just too much.

I think I need hot chocolate.

A POSITIVE THINKER IS YOU

I've been thinking lately about good attitudes and staying positive and just how are you supposed to do that.  Not that I've been down or sad - I haven't.  But there are lots of opportunities to get anxious about things and, having a history of anxiety and depression, I want to do all I can to avoid as many of them as I can.  And I'd like to keep doing it on my own, without medication.  Not that there's anything wrong with medication.  I've used it and it's helped me.  But it's been a good long while that I've been anxiety/depression-free without it and I'd like to stay that way, if I'm able.  I'm a little concerned about post-partum blues, but so far things have been good.

Anyway, I believe in the power of positive thinking.  I believe if you tell yourself you're pretty, you'll feel prettier.  And if you tell yourself you're strong, you'll be stronger.  And if you tell yourself you're stupid or mean or ugly or that it's going to be a bad day, you're shooting yourself in your proverbial kneecaps.  A lot of the time, life is what you make of it.  (Don't worry, the cliches don't stop there.)  But don't you agree?  When I get to thinking about how I'd like this or that about my life to be different (I wish I had curly hair, I wish I was more outgoing, I wish I could be a stay-at-home mom) and feel that silly self-pitying sadness slip its hand in mine, then I think about other people.  Everybody knows that other people aren't living their definition of perfect lives either (if you didn't, you do now).  We know everyone struggles with something, big or little things and usually both and almost never neither.  And yet we all mostly manage to be happy, most of the time.  It's a little bit inspiring to know that we are so powerful.  That we can be cheerful and satisfied even when our hair isn't curly when really really wish that it was

And so.  All of that was me trying to say that on Monday I was stressed and anxious about whether or not this baby has turned around, and whether or not he would stay turned around if he has, and how I would like a doctor to not have to cut him out of me, and that yesterday and today I've told myself that I'm not going to worry about it.  And I haven't!  Very much. 

On another note, I am really bad at Valentine's Day.  And Christmas, and birthdays, and any other gift-giving holiday.  Tony is really good at all of those.  Yesterday he surprised me with these earrings and a box of chocolate.

And how can I not be happy with an amazing Tonyface I love more than blueberry muffins on a sunny morning?

DING

I got to thinking, just now.
Something sweet Holly said in a comment to yesterday's post (my husband Tony says this a lot too, but you know, I can't link to him.)

Anyway.  She said, in response to my complaints of no energy, that it's okay because I am creating a HUMAN BEING.  Caps-locked and everything!  And maybe for the first time I realized "yeah!  I am!"  I don't know why the lightbulb suddenly dinged on, but you know what?  Our  bodies are amazing.  I am a factory right now, complete with 24-hour workdays and noxious gasses.  I can almost hear swinging hammers and buzzing saws in my ears right now.

I've decided being pregnant is basically the coolest thing ever.  Scary, exhausting, annoying, annoying to other people, thrilling, and cool.

Plus I get to eat like so much food. 

(Which is the best part, come on now.)

RUGS AND BUNNIES AND YES, MORE PREGNANCY WHINING

Okay, so, the first half of yesterday was productive.  The second half was spent sitting on my bed, staring into space, trying to muster the energy to get dressed and go to the store.  It's been the frustrating dichotomy of being pregnant: the desire to do more than normal, and the energy level to do much less.  I guess they call it nesting?  I call it an irrational worry that enough things won't get done before the baby comes.  I'm not really worried; I know we'll all survive if his room isn't completely finished by the time he arrives.  But I'm also okay riding the nesting wave and letting it push me to begin and finish projects all in one go.  I find I do best with a deadline, and this is a tactic I'm going to have to use if I ever want to get the rest of my house put together.

Slightly off-topic: I, after like a year of talking about it, bought a whole, new, matching set of sheets in a good color.  This may mean nothing to you, but it's the greatest thing in the world to me.  I might even be sleeping better.

Anyway, I wanted to share some of the fruits of my labors from yesterday morning.  First is the painted chevron rug project I'm doing.  I'm sure most of you have seen some form of this DIY.  This is the one that inspired me, and this is what I have so far:

Practically finished!  Or not.  Most of my time yesterday was spent figuring out how to evenly measure things on a rug that is not even on all sides, which is SO HARD TO DO with pregnancy brain.  So this was my solution: a twine grid measured only with my eyeballs.  I don't have the right kind of tape or else I would be working on it right now, but I plan to mark all the places where the twine crosses and use those to place the points of the chevrons.  Very mathematic and such.  I'm just hoping it doesn't turn out looking too DIY, you know?  I also don't know what color to paint it.  I'm trying to decide between a deep teal and a more rustic yellow-orange.  Thoughts?

A SIDE NOTE ABOUT CHEVRONS: I don't know why I'm jumping on this trend bandwagon.  Let's not call it jumping.  Let's call it lightly touching upon.  Most of you may not know about my innate disdain for trend following for the sake of trend following.  (I disdain it.)  But for some reason I really liked the look of the rug I linked to above and like the bold, graphic detail it will, with hope, add to the nursery I'm designing.  Also, I hate the word nursery.   I don't know why I used it.

But enough about that. 

The other thing I have to share I'm actually a little nervous to share, just cause it's been a while since I've painted something and art is very personal.  But I like the way this painting turned out and I'm excited to have something to put on my baby's wall that came directly from me.

Apologies for the flash glare. 
I tried really hard to not make it too girly, but obviously not very hard because there are a lot of flowers you know.  It's not very big, probably 9x12.  I don't know if I want to get it framed or not, and I'm debating if I want to make a companion painting cause I have another canvas the same size.

So many debates!  It's exhausting being me sometimes.

IT'S SATURDAY AND...

Kitties don't like taking pictures!

P.S. Thank you for putting up with all my photobooth pictures.  I know they're painfully underlit and horrifically unartistic and, most of all, lazy.  And, well, that's all I have to say about that.

On this grey but beautiful Saturday morning we (the cats, the dog, the fetus, and I) are feeling happy and listening to other people's playlists on Grooveshark.  The animals have mostly been laying around purring and snoring in turns, being either very bad or very good examples of what a Saturday should be, depending on your mood.  Today for me they are very bad, because I don't want to lay around all day.  Already I've got my hair curled and the dishes & laundry did, and I'm even almost done with my painting for the kid's room.  (No you can't see it, it's a s'prise.)  In a bit I'm going to get dressed and head to my mom's to use her sewing machine to alter the curtains I just bought.  And then I need to grocery shop!  And plan my lesson for church tomorrow!  Exciting things!

And all this time the littlest one around here has seemed happy exploring the many properties of rib bones (The Verdict: they are hard, and fun to kick, and very good for digging toes into.)

And that's basically it.  I'm getting a lot of body signals that it's time for lunch.  Yay lunch!

(P.P.S. It was the super wonderful Rachael from Lovely and Little's birthday yesterday.  You should go wish her a happy day-after-her-birthday!

BAD FOOT

Today and I got started off on a bad foot.

I just hate it when that happens.  It makes me want to honk at bad drivers and tell my husband he can sleep on the couch.

It makes me want to not be careful when I paint and to drink only hot chocolate all day so I feel even worse tonight.

It makes me want to go someplace really far away and sigh at mountains until my lungs hurt, and then take a nap in the sunshine so I wake up smelling hot and dusty.

But really it just makes me want to find something happy to distract my bad day from happening.

Usually I don't know what that is.  I think it might be tv (it's not tv).  Or baking something yummy.

Usually baking when I'm upset means I leave out things like sugar or baking soda.

Today the answer seems to be gritty blues music and the photos from my one and only album on Flickr.

And tonight I'd like to finish the painting I started yesterday - but only if my bad mood is gone.  Usually painting when I'm upset means the painting never gets finished.

If there was sunshine today, I would lay in it.

Theoretically.

30 WEEKS

This week brings us to the nice terrifying number of 30 - nice in its roundness, terrifying in that it means I have a mere 10 weeks to go. 

10 weeks left of (relative) normal.
10 weeks left of (relative) silence.
10 weeks left of life as I've known it for the past 24 years, but especially the last 2.

Only 10 weeks left of it being just the two of us.

My little heart is having a hard time putting up with all of this.  I feel readier than I've ever felt to start being a mommy, but I also feel about as ready as something that is not ready at all.  How am I supposed to handle never going back to just me and Tonyface lounging in our pjs on the couch with nothing on our minds but mac & cheese for dinner?

10 weeks left until, out of nowhere, there is half of me and half of him combined in one new little body who will be living in our house and getting all up in our couch lounging time.  I mean, I KNOW we're going to love him, but it's just the strangest thing ever.

Also - and let's talk about this - only 10 more weeks until I have to push that dude out of me.  I mean, come on!  What are you going to be doing in 10 weeks?  If it's not lying in a hospital in a melted puddle of anxiety, then I think you owe it to your human decency to send me some brownies.  If anyone reading this is currently lying in a puddle of their own childbirth anxiety, give me your address and I will send you brownies.

Speaking of which.  Good Idea or Bad Idea: watching all the baby shows on tv 10 weeks before you're supposed to deliver?  I can't decide.  (What Not To Wear, however, I think we can all agree is a Good Idea.)

Right?

NO BLUES ALLOWED

I can tell it's going to be one of those days.

One of those days where the flat grey outside sky oozes in through the windows and sticks to things the way that something undesirably sticky would.  And we'll feel so heavy we'll just sit on the floor and the couch all day and our spines will compress so much that we'll have to adjust the rearview mirror on our drive home cause we're 2 inches shorter than we were this morning.

And that's just no good, is it?

So we need to pick ourselves up by the scruff of our necks and tap our fingers to our noses and say "Look here, sister.  Get off your hiney and force yourself to do happy things so everyone can have a good day.  Quit yer worries, woman!"

So that's what I'm gonna do.