Tuesday, March 21, 2006

A dying dog's last words?

I am remarkably out of touch lately. I know I am doing a shameful job at blog upkeep (though not nearly as bad as Owen, I bet. I quit even looking at his). This lack of dedication can be attributed to the following activities which now consume my life:

#1: Sleep. I go to bed at or before 9 every night now. This is because I don’t sleep well and am perpetually tired.

#2: Using the restroom. I now go to the bathroom about 10-12 times per day, each time to dispose of approximately 2 teaspoons of fluid.

#3: Work. Believe it or not (this fact seems to shock people continually) I am still working each and every day. I used to say that this was because I couldn’t get comfortable at home, so I might as well be miserable at work and save my sick time. Now it’s simply out of sheer financial need since I could be more comfortable at home. This is due almost entirely to my wardrobe which is miserating (definition: makes one miserable. I made it up). I am having a new love affair with my pajamas.

#4: Reclining. I come home from work at about 4 every day and must proceed immediately (after taking off my pants, which is always my first priority) to elevating my feet. This is because by the end of the day they look remarkably like Grandpa Bob’s feet. Now, I love G-Bob with all my heart, but I’ll tell you damn skippy it isn’t for his feet. I have a gift certificate for a pedicure but I am too embarrassed to use it because my feet look so bad. My sister and I used to joke that we had Fred Flintstone feet. I now know that, compared with my current feet, those feet were precious and dainty.

I was so exhausted on Sunday from my big fun girls’ weekend that I could hardly move. And because I was bad and spent too much time on my feet, I could hardly bend my knees or feet. As a result, I spent much of the evening just lying in bed. I told Owen that I felt like a Dog who knows he’s come to the end of the line. You know…when they know they’re going to die and so they just lay on their side on the floor and wait for it. The only movement they can muster is to occasionally allow their weepy eyes to scan the room. He thought it was funny.

We have had a good time relating to pregnancy in terms of metaphor. A few weeks ago I told him I felt like one of those huge papier maché piñatas kids make out of balloons in elementary school – all big and round and tight. He laughed, pointing out that both the piñata and I come with prizes inside. I then felt the urgent need to remind him that we would not be getting to my “prize” by beating me with a stick. He looked at me and smiled with a shrug, saying “you never know.”

According to Baby Center, as of Sunday we were officially considered “full term.” This means we have reached the 36 week/9 month mark. However, Sam still isn’t due for another month. He isn’t doing much new on the development front. Basically, he’s just putting on the chub and smoothing out the wrinkles.

No comments: