Musings of the Fat and Sober, Vol. 4

Cross posted today at Salt and Nectar.

Well, I am officially in the home stretch. 35 weeks down, which means this kid can safely arrive in as few as 2 weeks (and in less than 6, if it knows what's good for it.) It also means that this is my last Fat & Sober post, so I'm feeling a little nostalgic.

Here are some things I will not miss:
1. Needing two hands and the support of a wall to put on my underwear, pants, or anything else going on the lower half of my body.
2. The double bathroom trips. I'm already one with a small bladder, so I'm used to frequent potty breaks. But what is with the mandatory second trip 5 minutes later? Every. Freaking. Time.
3. Non-underwire bras. The baby hates underwire (as in, jab, jab, jab, jab all the live long day), so for the sake of my rib cage, I switched to the less supportive non-underwire route. I have a feeling this will not be the last concession I make for this child.

I felt this was an opportune time to point out that for the first time in my life, I now look down and see something other than my boobs. It's kind of exciting. And I obviously mean my belly. Ramona is always there.

4. Fetus-safe eating. I would like my first meal post birth to be spicy tuna rolls, a turkey sandwich, and a dirty gin martini. I will have a bottle of Shiraz for dessert. Whoever brings me this meal wins.
5. Posterior Pelvic Pain. It would be swell if my left ass cheek didn't hurt every time I do anything other than sit still or lie flat on my back. Speaking of…
6. Sleeping on my sides. See also: numb shoulders, ankle cramps, and sore hips.
7. The taste of Tums.
8. Flossing my teeth and spitting out enough blood to make it look like I just lost a fight to a hockey player.
9. The gas. Seriously. Like we need another excuse to be compared to blimps.
10. The (unsolicited) opinions; even the genuinely helpful ones. They just get old.

Oh, you have a name suggestion? I'll bet it's what we'll pick, then. I should have an epidural? I already decided I don't want one...Yes, I'm totally serious. I need a bassinet? But we have a crib, like, 10 feet from our bedroom. No, we're definitely not co-sleeping. We already co-sleep with the cats, and that's precisely why we know we don't want to.

Wait, seriously, mom? I shouldn't listen to rap because babies in utero don't like it? I just...I just don't have words sometimes. I know you all love us and are very well intentioned here, but Hubby and I are in agreement on our decisions, and he's the only other one who legitimately gets a say here. Even about Jay-Z (who, obviously, will also not be consulted for baby name opinions.)

And the things I will:
1. Feeling it move inside me. Even the karate kicks when I'm trying to fall asleep. Seriously. It's amazing.
2. Not having to suck in my stomach for photos.
3. Ummm.

Let's circle back to this whole naming issue. I've decided this is definitely one part of having a baby that would be easier if I were single. (It would also be helpful if all of my favorite girl names weren't currently in the top 10 baby names this year. I refuse to have my child known as Olivia H. or Ava#4 her whole life.) After many lists, much discussion, a lot of "ew, realllly's?" and about 3 mind-changes, we've come to an agreement on a girl's name. It's a good adult name, easily shortened to make an adorable kid-friendly name, and the middle name is in honor of Hubby's maternal grandmother. Done and done.

But as we were stupidly gung-ho on not finding out the sex, we've also got to decide on a boy's name. And this is proving to be impossible. We had decided on one, much to my mother's chagrin...

Mama: Any decisions on names?
Me: I think we're going with Ezra Jack.
Mama: (Loooong, painful pause.) Can I call him Jack?
Me: Noo, but you can call him Ezra.
Mama: But...what will you call him when he's little?
Me: We were thinking...Ezra?

And then my FIL convinced the hubby that we needed David as a middle name (blah, blah, family tradition). Ezra, which Hubby loves, is one thing. Ezra David, however, is another...we are not bible people. Like, at all. And now we're back at square one. At least we have a middle name?

I'm not that old, right? I mean, 19 year old moms get joint pain, too, right? Right??

As I was bitching to the hubby about how annoying it is to have to slow down and do everything old lady style, he gave me a shrug and, without even looking up from his Words with Friends game, said, "It's ok. You're not in a hurry."

...Oh. I guess...I'm not...am I? Huh. I mean, why should I be in a hurry to get out of bed at 2am? Why do I need to literally hop out of my car when I'm just going to the grocery store? Does taking the stairs two at a time really make a difference when I'm heading into work? There's one flight. And this is why this man balances me. He can state the obvious and completely floor me with his brilliance. (Plus, I'm biased and a little bit stupid right now.)

That said, my chiropractor rules. I spent almost three weeks in agony, hardly able to walk, with a shooting pain in my butt every time I took a step, twisted, sat down, or generally used my pelvic/hip joint for anything. In other words, it was constant. And the only thing nearly as annoying as the pain was the involuntary grunting. Sitting down—ooof. Turning over in bed—hrrrrughhh. Every step—mmph. Seriously, it was annoying even me.

My doctor basically told me to get over it-it was common, and while, yes, it sucks, it will go away and nothing will help it. So I tried my chiropractor, and boom. I'm walking again, which I pointed out gleefully to the hubby last night. His response? "You're a lot quieter, too!"

But pain, annoyances, sacrifices and grossness aside, I know I've had it pretty darn easy. Pregnancy is not fun, and so many of my friends and family members have had it a whole lot worse. And all of them would do it again (or already did it again.) It's 40 weeks of our lives. It's an experience I'm glad I've had. I'm sure in 4 weeks I'll be to the JUSTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUTTTTTT stage, but for now, I'm ready for this baby to come when it's ready. Even if I'm still not sure I'll ever be.

So wish me luck! The Sarahs have asked me to share my sleep-deprived, clueless good, bad, and ugly experiences as a first time mom, so you'll be hearing from me soon. Until then, thanks for all the support, comments, and for listening to me bitch the last nine months.

XOXO, Pammy