Looks like I am one of the lucky ones that gets to go past 40 weeks of pregnancy. Yaaaayyyyy for me! Rrrrr.... Maybe he'll come on Marc's birthday on Mon. Feb. 15. Now that is a special day. Or my grandfather's birthday, Feb. 13. Or Valentine's Day, Feb. 14. Or Marc's parents' anniversary Feb. 16th. But please not after that. Can I put in a request? I don't want to be pregnant that much longer. And I definitely don't want a doctor trying to convince me to induce labor with pitocin on Feb. 26. This baby has a string of special dates to choose from, and he better pick one!
On the bright side, I have finally learned how to pee in a cup at the doctor's office without peeing on my hand. This has been a problem in my third trimester. When you can't see down there, it is a bit tough. They really should give big, pregnant girls a lesson on how to properly aim without spraying. Because I never read that manual, and my self-taught abilities may have been a bit slow on the uptake. Now that I have mastered this art, it is most likely a skill that I won't need to reacquaint myself with for a long time after the baby is born.
There's a recurring dream that I have had through out pregnancy. I keep dreaming that I give birth to a cat! Yes, a CAT! And in all of these dreams I am embarrassed that my friends are able to give birth to a person, and I produce a cat. While cats are my favorite animal and I am obsessed in love with Boogars and some of his feline friends (especially Siam and Gato), it is not my goal to add another kitty to my family next week. I am hoping for a human baby for natural reasons. In my dream, I always act very happy to receive the kitty baby in my life, but I am secretly disappointed that I had to stay pregnant for this long to push out a fur ball. And it's even more shameful that when cats have babies, they get to have a whole litter, while I just had one....And not to mention how undisciplined it was of me to gain 30+ pounds to have one little kitty.
A dream analyst would probably say that my idea of being a mom entails taking care of a kitty cat. And that would be accurate on so many levels. Boogars is my son and I have often (too often) joked that I gave birth to him. Obviously my idea of motherhood involves hairballs and litter boxes, so I'm clearly in for it. Let's hope my recurring dream doesn't become a reality, or I am on my way to becoming the mother of all cat-ladies!
Another fantastic obsession of mine has been stretch marks. And it looks like I made it through this entire pregnancy without a single one of those stinkers. Whew, what a relief! Maybe my "basting" ritual has paid off. Marc has compared me to a turkey marinating in oils as I hold my arms out walking like a scarecrow. I wouldn't want to risk spreading the olive oil, vitamin e, and cocoa butter concoctions anywhere but the stretch mark-prone areas. Yes, that includes the belly, but, boobs, and thighs. It's all in the spirit of vanity!
Now that my due date has come and gone, I'm doing the crabwalk to the refrigerator. Maybe it's a cross between a penguin and a duck. But I sank into the couch to type this blog, and the way I might waddle when I get up is beyond my control. I don't care what anyone says; relaxin is not relaxing. It is so much easier to move around in the mornings, before the pressure has increased with every hour of the day. By the time late afternoon or evening hits, I'm very achy from the baby sitting in my pelvis and pushing out on my nonexistent hips. And with every step I'm fairly certain he's going to crack my bones and break my vagina. But that won't stop me from making it to the kitchen. Chow!