This week has been so pregnant. I’m either about to be 29 weeks or 30 weeks. I don’t even remember. The first portion of this pregnancy slugged by like the stupidest slug. Probably because I was pukey and felt like a pile of crap and hardly ever left the house. Once I hit 20 or so weeks, everything jumped into hyper speed and the weeks are flying by. I was stoked on that part until recently, when I realized Adam and I are nowhere near ready and we only have 10 or 11 weeks left. Those are terrifying numbers for me to write down, by the way.
Yesterday morning, my bladder woke me up at 415am and I waddled into the bathroom in a half-asleep stupor. And I peed forever. FOREVER. And in my half-asleep stupor, my brain was like “This is so much pee. This can’t all be pee… ERMAHGERD MY WATER BROKE MAYDAY MAYDAY!!!”
And that thought woke me the hell up, immediately. And then I realized I was just peeing and that I am an idiot. But then my next thought rocked me like a hurricane. If this baby comes early, I am so screwed. All that energy that I had to start organizing and getting the house baby-ready? I had it long enough to pull everything out of every closet and drawer and bat cave in this house. And then it effed off before I could put stuff away. It’s a war zone over here, guys. Everything makes me tired. Sitting makes me tired. I have taken to praying to Saint Niecy to give me the strength.
I intended to spend all of yesterday getting some serious ish done around the house, and I had the energy to organize a junk drawer in the kitchen and to do some dishes. And then all my energy went into sitting and doing some really serious ugly crying. I spent the day majoring in Ugly Cry with a concentration in HuhHuhHuhUGHHHHH.
It is 300% likely that this was my very biggest instance of too many pregnancy hormones. But I still spent the majority of the hours feeling like I had bricks on my chest. And that is an annoying ass feeling. So I guess I am sort of taking back my eviction notice that I had issued to the tiny human a few weeks ago. While I am super excited to meet him and hang out with him and have my boobs gnawed to pieces, and to also feel some semblance of ownership over my body again, I’m okay with him taking his time to hightail it outta my uterus. At least until I have this house ready. Then I am over it again and I’ll start blasting “Call Me Maybe” onto my belly or I will smoke him out or something.
Adam didn’t call me to come get lunch with him and his friends today when they finished playing frisbee like he usually does, because he thought I was still yard saling today. I cried. And then my mouth stuck in an exaggerated frown when I stopped crying. And then I cried again. I’m pretty sure I will cry over this more at least three times in the coming hour. These hormones are too real for me. What the hell do pregnant women do with all these feelings when they can’t drown them in beer?? I really hope I don’t forget that this season of Game of Thrones is over so I don’t sob myself into oblivion when I go to watch a new episode.