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.)