31 weeks…………..

Here we are, in single digits. 9 weeks to go. The countdown is on. I mean, clearly, a due date is a rough guess, so there’s no guarantee I will make it 9 more weeks and really no way to know that I don’t have 11 weeks to go. Anything is possible.

But holy shit. 9 weeks isn’t much. It’s 63 days. Two months. Nothing at all.

We are ready. At home, we are ready. We have the necessities and can function with a child. Things are purchased and in place.

Physically, I am tired of being gigantic. I am physically really, really ready for this pregnancy to be over so I can wear regular pants again. And see my feet. And have a waist. And run 6 miles.

Mentally…well, that’s another story. I have never been so panicked about something in my life. I am so mentally nervous about everything. Birthing. Being a mom. Surviving the first few weeks. I am very mentally prepared, but also very, very anxious. I did so much research. I know literally every possible thing that can happen during labor and in a delivery room. I know what to expect. I know what to expect in the first few weeks. I know what to be prepared for from the first contraction to taking her home. But man, am I anxious.

Last night, we celebrated our one year wedding anniversary. In many ways, I never thought I would be here a year ago. I mean, we definitely wanted kids and getting pregnant was not a surprise because I understand science. But I couldn’t have imagined what the last year would look like last June. I couldn’t have imagined the struggle, the challenges, the emotions.

One thing I do know is that I hit the jackpot with my husband. He has been my number one fan and supporter through a pretty rough pregnancy. He is an even better partner than I imagined he would be. I am so grateful.

When I look back, this year just went by so fast. And I can’t believe it’s been 31 weeks of pregnancy already. I mean, I can. When I look down. But it’s just crazy. I guess I have 9 weeks to get my shit together.


30 weeks!

Holy shit, man. 30 weeks. That is crazy. I survived 75% of this pregnancy. That also means that we are almost to single digits, people. Like a countdown is on. I got a text from a pregnancy app on my phone this morning that was like “Hey! 10 more weeks!” and I totally freaked out. 10 weeks sounds like nothing. Nothing at all. I am so not ready.

I mean, I am ready. The nursery is 90% done and we had one shower so we have a lot of what we need (carseat, diapers, stroller, tutus, black patent leather booties – the essentials). We finally picked a name! Yahoo! Which we are keeping secret, minus telling a couple of immediate family members. But that feels good to have the big thing marked off the list. Basically, if she showed up tomorrow, we would be okay. I hope she doesn’t. I need her lungs to cook a little longer and for her to fatten up, but we are prepared for her arrival. And that is good for me since I am a planny/organizey lunatic.

But, honestly, I am not mentally ready. Not 100%.

My favorite professor in college had her first child 9 years ago. When she was pregnant with her, her husband said to me (something like) “having a kid is crazy. You talk about it and talk about it and decide you are ready. And then when there’s a pregnancy, you are like ‘holy shit, did we really think this through??’ But there’s no going back.” When he said that to me, I was 24. I had no idea what it would be like to want a kid. It wasn’t on my radar. But that stuck with me for some reason. And he was so right. You feel like you mentally say, ok let’s do this! And then you are pregnant and all of the worry and fear comes out of nowhere. Will I be a good mom? Will I even know what to do? Will I be patient? Will I do the right things? Can I do this?

I think you just figure it out. You realize that every mom was a first-time mom at some point and they all survived. So that’s good to remember. Roughly ten more weeks of repeating that in my head and by then I can convince myself we will be fine.

Not to mention, 10 more weeks until I can have a beer doesn’t sound to bad to me.



I am really tired. I am tired because I don’t sleep much. I wake up about 6 times a night. I am sure that is great training for me, but man, it’s hard. I am tired of worrying about what I can or cannot eat and if it will make me feel awful. I used to be able to eat whatever I wanted to, whenever I wanted to, but now if I even think about spicy food, I feel terrible. For hours. And I can’t sleep because my stomach hurts. I am tired of getting dressed. Nothing fits right. Nothing looks cute. And everything is too short. The bigger my belly gets, the sluttier my dresses get. It’s attractive. I am tired of people saying awkward things to me. I am tired of people telling me I am huge. Or that I finally look pregnant. Or asking how far along I am and then telling me how much longer I have to go. Or reminding me that summer is hot and I will be miserable. Ok, thanks. I hadn’t figured that out yet from the swamp ass I currently have 24/7.

I am tired of being pregnant. I know, it’s only June. But it’s hot, and I am huge and I am just over it. I have roughly 77 days to my due date and I am just about ready for her arrival. Other than at work. At work, I have so much to do. But at home, the nursery is done, the baby clothes are washed and everything is ready. I have a couple of showers coming up and then she can make her appearance.

I made it to the third trimester, so that is exciting. Finally past the worry phase now that this little lady is kicking me all over the damn place. It’s a little easier to feel like she is doing okay when she is actively punching me in the bladder. It’s crazy to think I only have about 2.5 months to go, but that’s about where I am. Getting really excited to meet her. If only we could decide on a name.

Slow crawl to the finish line.

One week to go until I start the third trimester. In a lot of ways, this pregnancy has gone by fast. But in more ways, it is crawling by. I am okay with that, as I still have a lot of work to do at work, specifically, before this girl gets here. But time is going by really slowly. I have kind of hit a pregnancy wall. I think it’s a little bit information overload and a little bit boring and non-exciting stuff going on.

The first trimester is very exciting in a lot of ways. You are keeping a secret for a long time. Hiding your stomach (which is now hilarious because now that I am actually showing I realize how much I was not showing when I felt like I was showing). Wishing and hoping that everything will be okay and that the baby is healthy. Counting the days until you feel like it’s safe to tell people. You also puke a lot. Minus the puking, that all makes the first trimester fun.

The second trimester is fun because you kind of start to show. You (mostly) stop vomiting. You get some energy back. You feel a little better. You can start planning. You buy things for the baby. You register for things. People start planning showers for you. You find out the sex. You start considering names for the tiny human. You start to get the nursery together. You feel pregnant in a good way.

And then the slow crawl comes. As I almost enter the third trimester, I am just in a blah phase. I hate getting dressed. I feel disgusting. My back is starting to hurt. People are starting to make comments about my body which just make me uncomfortable. I hate getting ready. I hate putting lotion on my belly twice a day. I hate when my lotion belly sticks to my clothes. I don’t really like looking in the mirror, even though, generally speaking, I have physically handled the pregnancy pretty well: I eat healthy and have not gained too much weight. I wobble when I walk. And I am so slow. I just want to be sitting down all the time. Actually I want to be asleep on my stomach all the time, but that is not an option. So sitting is the best.

I don’t want to wish time away. And, really, most of the time, pregnancy isn’t that bad. But I can understand why the third trimester is most people’s least favorite. And if this weekend’s weather was any indication, being super pregnant in the summer is not going to be fun. But I have two words for you: Maternity jorts.

Mother’s Day.

I have the sweetest friends. Before I even showered on Sunday, I had about 5 texts from my friends wishing me a happy first Mother’s Day. Some even threw in compliments on my baby bump. Or that they think I will be a great mom. It could be the hormones talking but each one made me tear up. I am 100% scared to death of being a mom, but I also can’t wait. I know August will be here before I know it, and I am excited to meet this little lady. To see what she looks like. To see if she is as wild as she seems when she is having a late night dance party in my belly at 2 am. To see what she is like.

But I am not a mom. Yet.

Mother’s Day is a tough day in my household. My husband lost his mom to cancer in August of 2014. Mother’s Day brings up a lot of emotions in him in the weeks leading up to it and especially on that day. He throws himself into work or projects around the house and is always ‘busy’ when my family is celebrating Mother’s Day. And I completely understand.

This year, Mother’s Day was a big pile of emotion for me. I am pretty much in control of my emotions. I am not a crier. Even with hormones, I have had very few crying fits. I mostly express my emotions with humor or yelling. It’s a treat. But I do not cry much. But as I drove to Trader Joe’s on Mother’s Day to pick up four bouquets of flowers for the mamas I was going to see that day (my mom, my Mawmaw, my bonus mom (stepmom) Ann and my aunt Paula), I found my mind wandering. Thinking about this baby coming soon and just being completely heartbroken that Matt’s mom won’t get to meet her. Or know her. Or hold her. Or anything grandmas should get to do with their grandbabies. It’s just unfair. Unfair for him to lose his mama so young. Unfair for her that she doesn’t get to be here. Unfair for our kid or kids because they don’t get to know her. And so I just cried my eyeballs out.

I think Mother’s Day is hard for a lot of people. I, personally, know several people who are currently trying to get pregnant without any luck, people who have recently had a miscarriage, people who want to be pregnant so bad but for a variety of reasons are not able to be pregnant at the moment. And there are a lot of people who don’t have their moms anymore who don’t need a day reminding them of that person that is missing. And I would imagine that this day breaks their hearts. I am grateful to have my mom and to be pregnant and I try not to take that for granted. Especially on Mother’s Day.

My husband told me he was going to get me a Mother’s Day gift, but decided not to because he knows me well. I mean he literally said “I didn’t get you a gift because I know how you are.” And he was 100% correct. This is not my year for Mother’s Day. Mother’s Day is for people who have kids. Who do that hard work every day to take care of kids. Or who have raised kids. But I haven’t put in the work yet. I haven’t changed the diapers. Or paid for babysitters. Or cleaned up poop. Or put anyone in time out. Aside from puking for a couple of months, I haven’t done the hard work.

So I spent a lot of the day enjoying the mamas in my life. But I didn’t celebrate the day for me. Not yet. Next year though, maybe I will have a mimosa.

Too much information.

Because the first few months of being pregnant were full of feeling terrible, misery and worry, I didn’t do anything. I barely even thought about the fact that at the end of the pregnancy part, there was a human child joining our household. I was strictly surviving. We bought a crib and a changing table and some curtains for the nursery, but that was the extent of our planning.

Now I am in planning mode. I like to plan. My friends and husband are sometimes annoyed by this, but I do not like to be spontaneous. I am not really going to do something on a whim. I mean, I can do that. But when it comes to events, for example, trying to get ten people into a restaurant for someone’s birthday or anything that requires the coordinating of more than 2 people’s schedules, I like to have a game plan. I have now entered the planning portion of this pregnancy. Not necessarily even planning for the baby. Right now, I am mentally preparing for the birth. Planning my mental game plan for something that cannot be planned.

Planning for me starts with information. And right now, I am on information overload. I am gathering as much information as is humanly possible and sufficiently freaking myself out. I have signed up for several classes and a tour at my hospital. I have read a few books. I have read a little too much online. I have asked other people about their own birth experiences and grilled my doctor. And I have been binge-listening to this podcast, the Longest Shortest Time. (Highly recommended). Basically, I have soooo much information that I am ready for almost anything.

This is a huge mistake.

When you have a lot of information, you can also give your mind permission to wander all over the place. While I like to be prepared, preparing for a birth just seems pointless. But I know I can’t stroll into the hospital with any contractions and not know what to expect. So with a lot of research under my belt (no pun intended, I cannot wear belts right now). I know what to expect. A little too much.

I feel confident that I know every possible way to have a birth – in a hospital, in a tub full of water, etc. From epidural to hypnosis, I know how to anticipate dealing with the pain of contractions and delivery. And more graphically, I now know the things that can happen to you during a vaginal birth, including an episiotomy which I definitely do NOT want and very much recommend you do not Google. I also know almost everything that can happen during a C-section, including horrifying details of the surgery. I know about anesthesia, the general layout and what may or may not happen if everything is routine. I also, unfortunately, know all about what can go wrong.

So, I have about 4 months max before this kid gets here and basically, right now, I am ready for anything. And 100% completely horrified.

Vagina pains and Cheez-its.

My life used to be filled with drinking good beer or bourbon, watching sports, enjoying clothes and shoes, running, working, working on my house, etc. Now? It’s all about vagina pains and Cheez-its.

I cannot eat enough Cheez-its. I know those are gross and not natural and really not healthy, but seriously, it’s one of the only foods I want to eat. Stop judging me. And then there’s that vagina pain.

“Have you had that stabbing pain in your vagina yet,” my co-worker asked. (Side note: nothing is weird anymore.)

“Why yes, I have,” I replied.

I never in my wildest dreams imagined a conversation like this happening. Let alone bringing me comfort. But it happened. And I felt better after talking to her about my stabbing vagina pains.

Things are shimmying in my body. I am having what I like to call Toni Braxton-Hicks. They are pretty uncomfortable. But my body feels tight and miserable all the time. And there are some shooting pains in my crotch pretty regularly. Kind of like riding a bike for 10 years. None of this seems like something normal or what should be happening, but I kind of assume at this point (due to conversations with my OBGYN) that nothing is a reason for alarm unless there’s blood accompanying it. So, I am cramping and squeezing and stretching constantly and sitting with really awkward posture for some relief. And when someone randomly asked me if I had had those stabbing vagina pains, I thought, YES! I know what you are talking about! I have had those! And they must be normal! YAHOO!

And it wasn’t even weird.