All the high falutin’ plans I had months ago: swimming, yoga, bonding with other pregnant women in my neighborhood, walking every night, doing kegels at my desk, drying fruit, sitting calmly and reading…ALL BULLSHIT. None accomplished. Zero. I did four kegels once and spent the next two hours dribble peeing.
What I did do:
Plucked out the black hairs on my stomach, the ones I could see/reach anyways. My Tweezermans are being called upon to do duties they never dreamed of.
Peed every 10 minutes.
Annoyed Nuv (Me, leaning over in movie theatre: "You should really go talk to the bank about your new credit card Monday." Nuv: "Leave me alone.")
Cut my bikini line shaving every day, so I had to switch from a cream towel to a purple one.
Watched the first part of National Geographic’s In The Womb and wanted to cry and cry at how miraculous this whole process is.
Felt the kid bust out the running man during Inception. My stomach was bouncing like a Compton low rider. Movements now are very "what's up, MOMS?!" as opposed to the kinder gentler pokes and taps of last month.
Slept for 12 hours one night, foregoing the fireworks. Previously unheard of behaviour. I love fireworks like a fat kid loves cake.
Spent an entire beautiful Sunday afternoon inside researching online the best/safest brands of baby equipment (cribs, strollers, car seats, etc.) and discovered everybody has an opinion and the internet is too big. It's too much. I want one list of what I must have, and I want to print that list off and exchange all the shoes I’m not wearing for everything on that list. Come on Toys R Us, get flexible! We are very lucky to have a lot of help with this stuff, and are also inheriting some great stuff from my in-laws, but it’s still an overwhelming process. Should I get a sling to carry the kid around? Is there one with an airbag, so when I inevitably trip and fall I don’t crush my child? Does it come with insurance and a crate of tissues for when I drop it out onto the pavement like a watermelon through a wet bottomed paper bag? Why is the highest rated breast pump FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS? For that type of money I should be able to get Ryan Gosling over here to gently squeeze the milk out by hand into gold plated jars. Someone actually named a (highly reviewed) product a Hooter Hider. And My Brest Friend. Come on. Now this is just getting silly. Mostly because I want one of each.
On the 'Fuck yes, we can finally check something off the list' front, we took an Infant CPR course. In a semi-classroom environment, Nuv and I reverted back to our high school selves. Me: nerd, answering every question and asking more. Nuv: being sarcastic (i.e. Fireman: "Would you give mouth to mouth to a stranger?" Nuv: "Only if they were deranged.") This is just one of literally 1,000,000 examples where we are completely opposite. I got bit in a mole by a mosquito (nice aim, asshole) and did not scratch it because my Mom told me when I was little, if you ever ripped open a mole, it would never stop bleeding. I believed it. When I told Nuv this he said he would have scratched one on purpose to see what would happen. Nuv is a night owl; I don’t last long in the moonlight even when not pregnant. Nuv will finish a task once started, even if it means sacrificing sleep and sanity; I will do my best and leave the rest for tomorrow. Nuv is late; I am early. When the occasion calls for it, Nuv loves being a dink; I would run into a snake-filled sinkhole to avoid an awkward confrontation. I can operate a microwave; Nuv cannot. I can drive a stick shift; Nuv cannot. (Last two items: not very relevant, but I have to have something to lord over him...)