Twenty-five weeks, everyone. It’s getting to be serious business time. I have made a decision and have informed the baby that his time is coming. He needs to pack up his stuff and get ready to hightail it outta my lady bits. The results are in, and I think I have about ten weeks of this nonsense left in me. I know I can’t be induced or anything yet, but I am letting him know that, that is when HE needs to be ready. I am ready to part ways with this belly.
Any of you who think I am being dramatic, you are right and really shouldn’t be surprised because I am great at being dramatic. SO GREAT I COULD DIE. And any of you who think I am an awful mom for kicking her baby out of her womb before he is fully cooked, suck it. Suck it out loud. Adam is 6’4″. I am 5’8″. He was an eight-pounder. I was ten motherbucket pounds and nine whole entire ounces and almost two feet long when I came out of my poor, poor mother 3.5 WEEKS late. The doctor already told us the baby is growing big. I can look at my belly and the ominous thuds he gives off when he kicks and tell you she is correct. My belly is big enough that I have not seen my lady bits in quite some time and can no longer vouch for their existence. I will not have them torn to shreds before I see them again.
I am this close to putting a trail of cookies and dollar bills outside of my vagina. If he is his mother’s son, he will have an overwhelming love of money or dessert, if not both, and he will crawl right out. My back has been killing the crap out of me. I had to listen to the series finale of Desperate Housewives because I spent a large chunk of it hunched over with my head on the coffee table. And in order to even achieve that position, I had to move my knees a million aspirins apart and shove my belly between my legs because otherwise, I squish my kid and some vital organs. And that is really uncomfortable. The size of my belly also keeps me from tying my own shoes or putting a sock on my right foot. My ability to touch my right foot is just plain gone. And the what-the-frig in all of this is that everyone tells me that I have a small belly for being six months pregnant. How in the friggity frack can I get any bigger than this?!!! Too much baby, not enough Sara.
This post was brought to you by my very own zipcode, made just for me and my enormous belly.