After a night of tossing and turning (aka trying to lift the weight of my huge pregnant belly from one side of the mattress to the other), I was hoping to get out of the house for an hour or two with the family. There is some sort of environmental festival going on in our town this weekend, and I thought it would distract me from feeling so miserable that I’m still pregnant. But then I headed over to the closet and proceeded to try on literally all of my acceptable-for-public maternity clothes. None of them fit. None. So then I cried. When you no longer fit in your maternity clothes, you know that it should be time for the freakin’ birth already.
I’ve been having nightly contractions that sometimes come at 10-12 minute intervals. It’s probably due to the fact that J tends to nurse a ton in the evenings. But the contractions don’t really feel like they are going anywhere. I haven’t had the feeling of “this is it” yet. There are just enough contractions to sort of taunt me. To make me wonder if I just might go into labor tonight. And to make me reflect on how miserable I feel.
I had to get up to pee 5 times last night. 5 freakin’ times. And in our crazy house, peeing is a major chore. It’s not like just padding down a hallway, like in a normal house. Our bedroom is in a separate little house next to the main one. Every time I go to the bathroom, I have to get a flashlight and shine it on the floor (checking for cockroaches or ants), tap out my shoes (checking for scorpions), unlock the door to our bedroom with one key, head outside (being sure to avoid any ant trails on the patio), walk over to either the outside bathroom or the main house and unlock with another key. If I choose to use the outside bathroom/laundry room, I must be sure to avoid stray ants crawling on the floor as I pee. I often find myself stamping my feet as the adrenaline rushes through my body (I hate ants). If I choose the bathroom in the main house, I have to be sure to not let the cats out, as they are sometimes determined to escape in the night. After peeing, I must re-lock one door, go to bedroom, and then re-lock bedroom door. Then I can take my glasses off, take off shoes, and crawl into bed again with my flashlight right next to my pillow for next time the urge to pee strikes. Then I spend a little time recovering from the adrenaline of encountering the horrid ants and hopefully fall back asleep. Repeat this entire sequence 3-5 times per night for pure pleasure!
I don’t know. I’m sure I could go on with the self-pity. But if I continue, I might just cry or cough or laugh again, and then I will have likely peed in my pants. So maybe I better not. I really hope the next post I write will include a lovely birth announcement instead of this venting.