Twenty-four hours from now, we will know which flavor of baby we’re having. Instead of “that tap dancer on my bladder”, it will be “our son” or “our daughter” or “our uncooperative little weasel”. We’ll take one step further towards Reality, away from Theoretical.
Right. Like we’re going to end up living anywhere near Reality.
I find myself actually kind of nervous about the whole thing. I mean, what if they find something wrong? What if there’s more than one in there? What if it protests the whole ultrasound thing and decides to bust on out through my belly button? (IT COULD HAPPEN.) Or even worse, what if my baby is ugly??
I just don’t know if I’m a big enough person to love an ugly baby.
As if in preparation for this monumental step we’re taking this week, someone seems to have provided it with a baseball bat. I can’t figure out how else to explain the THWUMP THWUMP that makes me lose my breath, that, more importantly, it should still be way too small to make. It must have help. Or an accomplice. I blame Nimitz.
We have undergone a shift in weather and hormones as well. Up until this week, I was never warm. Never. No matter how many layers of clothing, how warm the room was; if I was comfortable, it meant the room was *entirely* warmer than it should be and everyone else was sweating. And then this week, we hit 80 degrees outside. And it hit about 140 in my shirt. Okay, that’s really just today, and it’s probably because I spent the morning wrestling with Linus (one of Mom’s cats who needed to go see the vet because of an injured paw. Nine pounds of cat should not be able to produce that much resistance, especially because, you know, INJURED PAW WRAPPED IN BANDAGE.). After a solid 45 minutes of fighting with him and exchanging several impolite comments (he started it), I was breathing pretty hard and my heart rate was up pretty high. The Beast Within did not enjoy that and made its discomfort known, so there I sat, on the floor in Mom’s bedroom with a growling cat under the cedar chest, trying to get my heart rate down enough that I wouldn’t lose my bladder and its contents to the Rage Kicks inside. Then, back down to pull the cat out (which would be easier if I could BEND OVER ANYMORE). I’m still not entirely sure how I finally got him — part of me figured if I hurt him, I was taking him to the vet anyways so screw it, so I may have just started yanking harder. Putting his sister in the second carrier was much easier, partly because I was not Having Any Of It anymore, and within two minutes we were out the door and miraculously made our appointment.
The next week or so will mostly be consumed by con prep. Today’s goal: go to Target and find me a maternity swim suit. We will be staying in the hotel, which has an awesome indoor/outdoor pool, and I plan to get into it at least once.
I’m ending this post here on this nice abrupt note because I think I need to pee again, and I have a One Pee Break Per Post rule.