1. Yes, I am still pregnant. 41 weeks, 2 days to be exact. This makes people uncomfortable for some reason. People who are not me. I’m largely unphased by the length of time this kid chooses to incubate.
2. The doctor’s office pisses me off. Their blatant use of lies, privilege, and fear mongering is disgusting. That’s the only part of being pregnant this long that I don’t like: fighting with the damn doctor’s office every 3 days. Last week I just ignored them entirely and hid out like a fugitive.
3. I’m hungry. Why haven’t I eaten breakfast yet? Ah yes, because I’m lazy. Check.
4. I really wanted to experience that ‘nesting’ feeling I hear so much about. My OCD was shitting golden kittens in excitement about the prospect of unbridled energy devoted to cleaning and organizing like a lunatic. No. Such. Luck. Thanks a lot, Universe.
5. That Boy’s job wants to cut his pay by 33-66%. Uh, yea, that much. I’m … overjoyed. Right. Suffice it to say he’s already looking for something else el pronto. Not to mention, the hours at this job suck in the worst way.
6. I’m beginning to believe this child is never coming out. Ever. I think this kind of irrational thinking is also what happens to serial killers when you leave them in solitary confinement too long. The crazies just start to creep in when you aren’t looking and before you know it you’re convinced the all kinds of crazy things are up.
7. Did you know they made a pack of Starbursts that only have the red flavors in it? Uh, yea. I just heard. I could dance in the streets about it. Pink and yellow Starbursts, I have no time for your shenanigans! Out you go!
8. I’m supposed to work next weekend (3-5 Feb) at a state tournament. Why? Because I was supposed to have this kid already. I’m not sure how this is going to play out in the near future. Shit. I need to find someone to cover for me. Good thing I have an assistant … wait … an assistant who already told me he won’t work that weekend. Double shit. Uh oh, spaghettio.
9. I got this cool double layer plastic tumbler thing for Christmas from my brother. Have you seen them? It doesn’t condensate, had a twist on lid that looks like a fountain pop cup, and a hard plastic use-it-forever straw. I’m kind of in love with it. It makes me wish we had a freezer upstairs. The trek to the basement for ice cubes is generally unappealing to me always.
10. Believe it or not, the constant check-up phone calls, emails, and facey spacey messages have begun to diminish. I attribute this to either a: people forgetting that I’m possibly still pregnant or b: me scaring them into not bugging with my shitty snark responses over the last couple weeks. I know B worked on my dad who is now afraid to call me for an update lest he “upset me” which I think is code for “have to listen to me bitch about how I’m not answering anymore damn questions”. Either way: bonus for me.