Um, I'm having a baby this year. The whole "next year" thing has, so far, made it all seem rather remote, but I no longer have that mental barrier between me and a life trapped in the house with two screaming children all by myself 12 hours a day. I am not entirely ready for this, especially since Mia has decided that she only does bedtime with two solid hours of near-constant mommy-intervention and I have no idea how I am going to manage that with a newborn attached to my boobs. I suspect we'll just let her stay up until midnight every night and haul her up to bed once she collapses on the couch, totally overloaded from eating and watching whatever she wants because we just need her to chill.
However, I did manage to wash, fold and put away the first six months or so worth of baby clothes, sheets, towels, blankets, and whatnot and raised the crib and found a mobile and bought almost all of the six or so things that I needed for this kid and did not receive for free from generous family and incredibly generous friends. There's still nothing on the walls in the nursery, but at least the walls are no longer pink and there is furniture and a crib. Of course, the mattress is propped up against the wall waiting for me to iron and install the dust ruffle, which knowing how much I hate ironing will probably happen when this kid is four months old. Mia didn't sleep in her crib at all for the first six months, so I'm not all that worried.
I am worried that this kid still doesn't have a name. I told Chris I was not giving birth until we have a name, so if we don't decide by the time I go into labor, we are going with whatever I decide in the car on the way to the hospital.
I also procured myself two sets of hospital-appropriate pajamas, which was absolutely necessary since my usual pajamas are a shirt that has officially become more holes than fabric (which I am sure Chris will steal and burn someday soon, such is his hatred of that shirt, which I stole from him in the first place many years ago) and a pair of formerly black, now gray yoga pants with an ever-growing hole in the ass. My new jammies are two sets of pants/hoodie combos, of which I cannot even hope to zip the jacket, but I am optimistic that once the parasite is removed I'll have better luck.
Speaking of evicting the parasite, on Sunday I gave serious thought to calling my OB and telling her to screw this VBAC thing because I wanted to be strapped to her operating table the absolute soonest she would agree to take this baby. The sheer fact of being pregnant was so painful that I spent the entire day fighting the urge to collapse into a puddle of pitiful tears. Moving hurt. Not moving hurt. Breathing hurt. I couldn't imagine enduring six weeks of that. Fortunately, Monday was a little better, even with nearly passing out in the middle of a facial. I cashed in the birthday gift certificate from Chris and it was mostly lovely and I even bought some things which I ordinarily never do because they are expensive and I am cheap but I had the money and couldn't do anything else with it so whatever. However, about halfway through it occurred to me that I wasn't feeling entirely well and literally my very next thought was hey, I am about to either pass out or vomit or both. I managed not to do either, but I did have to spend some time convincing the aesthetician not to call 911.
And hey, does anybody know what an aesthetician does during that middle part of the facial when they have smeared crap on your face and covered your eyes and then say they are going to step out for a minute? I used to think they went and saw another client, but now I suspect that they either head down to the break room and shoot up, or just pretend to leave and really stand silently in the corner watching to see whether you pick your nose while they are gone.
Wait, I was talking about something else. Oh yes, by Tuesday I was back to just being mildly uncomfortable all the time and bearable pain when doing crazy things like moving and inhaling, so I am optimistic that Sunday was a fluke that won't be repeating itself daily for the next six weeks.
Jeez. Take me back down to only one blog and I go all crazy with the typey-type.