I'm still pregnant.
That's how I answer the phone. Even to Republicans who wanted me to vote for them in the primaries. Which is really a puzzle, considering I'm a registered Democrat.
But I digress. I'm still pregnant.
Not much going on here. Just getting weekly BioPhysical sonograms (and yet, they are not figuring his weight every week - that's such a massive pain in my ass - but he should weigh about six and half pounds right now), getting hooked up to machines and daily staring at my elevated ankles.
We won't talk about my puffy feet.
After being back in hospital last week (contractions three minutes apart and they strapped me to a bed and pumped me with fluids for a few hours which OF COURSE STOPPED IT) I've decided I'm not going back to the hospital until I have a baby. If that means if I go back and they discharge me, I don't care - I'll permanently sit in the hallway. I'm not collecting anymore damn hospital bracelets until I get me a baby.
So, let's see.... today I am 36 weeks and three days pregnant. Talked to my OB last night (who was out of town last week during the hospital fiasco) who was all yeah, you're not gonna be pregnant for much longer and I'm all DUH, BETTER NOT BE. Especially since they still have me on bedrest/restricted activity (due to edema and blood pressure) despite being over 36 weeks. The other two times, I was fully released from any restrictions at 36 weeks. This time? No. Which? Damn it. I'd really like to go float in a swimming pool. Or pretend I have the stamina to clean the house (which I totally don't, I have to take a break when trying to walk 10 feet to make a glass of ice water).
Aaron's being a super-trooper through the whole thing and not at all bitching about my inability to make dinner (or even the dinner plates). And yet, still no car seat in the car and no crib to lie a baby in. Deep breathes, Laura, it will be fine.
Yesterday, the toilet on the main floor broke ("crappy plastic chain!" was Aaron's battle cry) so I had to explain the whole yellow is mellow, brown goes down to the boys. Who looked at me with tears in their eyes. To which I then said OR GO UPSTAIRS. They went upstairs, whereas I manually flushed every time I, ahem, took care of business. Sinking my arm up to my elbow in the back of a 70-year old potty is not my idea of happy fun time.
Aaron went to the hardware store and fixed it around Midnight. Bless him. I guess he does love me after all.
That or he's under the delusion that he'll get the crib put together before the baby comes.
Bed rest is rotting my brain, y'all. Or maybe it's the ice cream.
I've been begging Aaron to go get me Wendy's everyday (don't you judge me, it's on the gluten-free list) and last night I listed the ingredients so he could just get it stuff to make it at home instead. Because as much as love a frosty, you know there's crap in there that you can't pronounce. I'll take the real ice cream almost any other day.
And given he won't even get me the Wendy's everyday, this works out 'cause I can make 'em at home whenever I want. Till I run out of ingredients.
Seriously. I'm talking about ups and downs of trying to send my husband to Wendy's daily. This is what bed rest has done to my life.