I've been an excellent pregnant person. Well, from the side of being responsible, anyway, Himself might have a different opinion about how excellent I've been... *grin* I eschewed my beloved blue cheese, my constant companion sushi, and given up booze and caffeine. I started eating things like kale and flax seed. I drink two litres of water a day, and take my pregnancy vitamins like a good girl. All of this I have done for the love of the wee one I'm incubating.
That said, I'm just about ready for her to be OUT OF ME.
Her hiccups are annoying. I don't care how many women tell me that they loved the feeling of their unborn lovelies when they got the hiccups, you're not going to shame me into lying about it. It's bloody hard to go to sleep when Madam decides it's time for uterine gymnastics, which normally occur around about the third bathroom trip (3am ish). My stomach is so tight it feels like I'm about to burst like an overripe melon, which my midwife attributes to the fact that I haven't gained any fat during the pregnancy and also to my apparently strong abdomen muscles (wasn't aware I had any). I'm out of breath all the time, my hips hurt, and I'm only comfortable if I'm sitting upright and crosslegged (which my chiropractor has expressly forbidden) or lying on my left side.
(I'm now having to regather my thoughts, as Himself's cat has just left her perch on his lap to walk directly across my abdomen and settle on the arm of the couch near me.)
I know that when she comes out of me, it will all fade. I'm not promising that I'll forget it enough to embark upon this insanity again, but I'm sure I won't take it out on her. Much. *grin* And please don't mistake this mini-rant as "everyone tell me how sorry they are that I'm not enjoying being pregnant", it's more "my memory is terrible so I've captured this particular time in my life on the blog so I can't forget it later".
In other news, the mural in the nursery is finished. Himself has truly risen to the occasion, and I'll admit I've been put to shame by his artistic abilities. He can look at a picture and copy it, and I mean, copy it exactly. So, JB will come home to a nursery which hosts the Cat in the Hat, Calvin and Hobbes, Simon's Cat, Stewie from Family Guy, and (my personal favourite) an enormous Totoro. We're waiting for a replacement piece for Madam's bed, but it's meant to come tomorrow, and I'll post pictures when it's less "bomb site" and more "baby's room". As it stands, I don't think I've every seen a nursery I liked more. It's turned out to be everything I hoped for but on a grander scale. I heart it majorly.
While I've been less productive in the house lately (lack of breath tends to do that to me), I've gotten a little done today. All Madam's clothes and blankets have to be washed with sensitive skin products before they can be used, so I've begun rotating everything through the wash. I'm on the third load for today, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't get a little soppy pairing all the tiny socks. I'm still having a hard time believing she'll be so small when she finally deigns to relinquish her hold on my insides.
I'm still temping at Coca Cola through the 16th of this month, and the baby shower is on the 17th, so the next little while will be a little frenetic with work and preparations. I'm genuinely looking forward to getting everyone together for one last shindig before Madam takes over our lives, and as The Mimi knows (because she got to me young), I do love to throw a party. I've been driving himself batty with talk of decorations and food. Ask me whether he cares one way or another? The only opinion he's offered is that he'd like cheese and pineapple on sticks and little sausages... it's times like these that I'm reminded of how much I adore that man. *grin*
So that's life as we know it for the mo. I'm going to go fold some more tiny clothes. And I won't be getting weepy over them. Not even a little. So there.