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the 17th week report
Reporting for duty: 17 weeks
I’m officially 4 months pregnant now and that means I’ve “popped” like a piece of popcorn. I woke up one day and there it was, the belly. It’s still not very big yet but I’m definitely at that stage where when I tell people I’m pregnant, they get that sheepish look like they already thought so but had too good of manners to ask. But me, I’m screaming inside that I’m pregnant! I’m dying for people to ask. Tell me I look pregnant! I’m not fat! I must look so stupid in my maternity clothes that are too big. But really my old clothes are getting tighter and tighter and just plain uncomfortable. It’s so nice to put something on that ‘s too big for a change. So yeah, I’m at that stage.
What else is going on? I think I’m officially tired now. My other friends who are pregnant (I have quite a few, we should form a club) have been rolling their eyes at me when I tell them about all the projects I’m doing. They think I’m some kind of crazy wonder woman or something. I figured I wasn’t feeling tired because I don’t have an 8 to 5 job and I get plenty of sleep. I go to bed when I’m tired and I wake up when I wake up naturally. A true blessing of being self employed. But lately, I feel like a steamroller ran over me. I had to carry the laundry upstairs yesterday and when I got to the top I had to sit down and take a breather. Maybe it’s all the babysitting I’ve been doing lately. I just feel like I need forty-seven hours of sleep a night.
I know it’s way too early to be complaining about edema, (as my hilarious friend whoorl, who sure knows a lot about pregnancy for not being pregnant, informed me) but my feet hurt! The bottoms. I’m really kind of worried.
It could be because I’ve been running around a lot in my wedge heels instead of in running shoes. They aren’t high heels and they are quite comfortable but I don’t think they were ever designed for running. The reason I’ve been running a lot is because I’ve been baby sitting a three-year-old Mario Andretti who never walks anywhere. He’s like a bat out of hell wherever he goes. He’s really wearing me out. So maybe I’ve bruised the bottoms of my feet by running in the wrong shoes?
Or it could be from walking around barefoot on the Things sea grass rugs. The texture is quite rough and maybe it’s bruised the bottoms of my feet.
OR… maybe I’m taking after my mom and I’m developing neuropothy in my feet! Maybe I’ve gained enough weight that I’m going to get sleep apnea and stage 2 diabetes too! The drama! The drama!
As you can tell, I’ve officially hit the worry stage along with everything else. I worry about EVERYTHING.
My latest worry of course is that my baby isn’t really there and it’s all in my imagination. I can’t figure out why I have this worry because obviously there is something inside me and obviously it’s growing. Maybe it’s a six pound tumor. I keep trying to concentrate and see if I can feel any “bubbles” or wiggling sensations but I don’t really feel anything. The doctor says I should start feeling something any day now. I think that will really help with the worrying. But then of course when the baby doesn’t move I’ll start worrying that it died inside me or something. There is just no winning with this worrying business.
I took the deformity test last week and I haven’t heard anything back yet from the lab. I don’t know if it’s too soon for them to call me or if no news is good news. I’m hoping for the latter, but worrying about the former (of course).
Get this: I could have had an ultrasound already!!! You could be reading right now that my baby is a boy or a girl! Cause you know I’m not keeping any secrets on that. I could have scheduled the ultra sound this last Monday. But I couldn’t fit it in because I’m baby sitting every single day!!! Ugh! #@!!$ As soon as my week long nanny stint is over, we’re hoping to go on vacation for two weeks. But that means I won’t be able to know what sex my baby is until the 29th of August! That’s ages from now! How am I going to cope?
Toby says, “What’s the problem? It’s not like the baby is going to change sexes between now and the 29th.” Ugh. See this is why men are not pregnant. They just don’t get it. I need to know NOW!!!! If I could install a window in the side of my stomach, I totally would. I told the nurse at my doctor’s office that they should set up a baby heart monitor booth in their waiting room and charge 25 cents admission for mothers to go in and hear their baby’s heart beat. I would be in there every day. Maybe even more than that. They could make a fortune off me.
And that’s a wrap. Other than the hurting feet, the sticking out belly, the tiredness and the ever present worrying, I seem to be my regular old self!
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Moth Killer
This post is rated Y for yuck.
I am on the war path. I have declared war against the little tiny moths in our house.
It started from some bird seed that we bought from our favorite bird store. It had moths and then the moths multiplied and were seen flying around the bird cage. You’d think the birds (that like to eat bugs) would eat the little flitting bugs but no, they ignore them. So, I cleaned the bird cage from top to bottom and threw out all the mothy bird seed. Since then I have put all our new bird seed into the freezer to freeze those little buggers dead. When you buy the seed, the eggs are invisible but sooner or later they turn into disgusting wiggling little grubs and then the dreaded moths. I thought I had eradicated the moth problem. All of our bird food supplies are locked up in super air tight rubbermaid containers and anything moth-eatable goes into the freezer first thing when it comes home from the bird store.
BUT, somehow those nasty little buggers got into my pantry. I didn’t notice them for a long long time because they decided to inhabit my old “Cat’s Pajama’s Cafe” box, which is a little box of coffee flavorings and cinnamon shakers and chocolate sprinkles and things like that from back in the day when we used to have our own espresso maker and I’d set up shop and pretend I was a barrista from Starbucks. Well, the espresso maker broke about a year ago, so I haven’t been making any Cat’s Pajama’s Cafe Coffee drinks. Of course I’m not in the habit of inspecting my cocoa shaker or my cinnamon shaker or my hazelnut and vanilla nut flavorings, so I had no idea what was growing in the dark recesses of my pantry until things had gone very very very wrong.
You can imagine my surprise when I finally cleaned out my entire panty WITH BLEACH and I discovered the moths had completely taken over my coffee making supplies box! The cute little glass shaker that I keep cocoa in was an ant farm of tunnels and little wormy canals. It was so gross, I almost lost my lunch. Into the trash all my supplies went. My mom is going to have a cow when she finds out I threw out perfectly good glassware but there was no way in hell I was going to wash those things. If I had a dishwasher maybe but I don’t have one and that would mean it would be me and the soapy hot water and moth carnage. Ugh. It was all I could do to toss them into the trash, take the trash immediately out to the curb and look the other way. And even then, I was wearing rubber gloves! Oh, where is my Dad the pest control exterminator when I need him?
I cleaned with a vengeance. I was on fire. I reached into the dark crevices of our pantry and cleaned where no man has ever gone before. It was only a task a nesting pregnant lady could endure. But when I was done…Viola! A beautifully clean sparking pantry!!! I catch myself opening the cupboard doors at least once a day just so I can admire my handiwork.
But there ARE STILL MOTHS IN MY HOUSE! I am killing them one by one and they are going to be the end of me. I’ve cleaned out Toby’s snack cabinet (the moths found his secret stash of cashews from Trader Joes… or maybe the moths came from Trader Joes originally, who knows). I’ve dusted and cloroxed and swiffered… I’ve sweated and cried and yelled. But still it’s: here a moth, there a moth, every where a moth moth moth. Toby says that they seem to pop up right after you clean out one of their secret hideaways. I hope that’s why I’m still seeing them but I am out to get them with a blood thirsty vengeance. Forget catching them and politely putting them outdoors. I swat them with my favorite magazines. I squash them with paper towels. I even strain my poor stretching pregnant body to swat them off the ceiling.
Die moths! Die!
