I can’t stop cleaning things. I have uncharacteristic and clearly hormonally driven urges to organize things into seagrass baskets, to fold stuff neatly in drawers, and to vacuum hard to reach places. Yup. I’m scouring the scunge that has eluded my minimalist attempts at cleaning for years. My husband thinks it’s great, albeit scary.
I intersperse these fits of cleany-ness with total inertia. Oh the sleepy stick that sometimes bludgeons me onto the sofa! Oh the fatigue of caring for two wee ones while a third baby funnels my life force, brain power, and emotional equilibrium through my placenta, leaving me with only the by-products!
Lawdy lawd lawd lawd.
Yet, I know this pregnancy is my last and I know it is a blessing and I am trying to enjoy it. Because there are things about being pregnant that I love love love. I feel gorgeous and ripe, I do.
And by now I know better than to feel sorry for myself – I can think of many worse circumstances than being 8 months pregnant.
Not that knowing better prevents me from ever feeling sorry for myself… I am 8 months pregnant, after all, it’s not like I’m a reasonable person. Why, just the other morning I was weeping into the dishwater over the fact that nobody at all loves me. Not a single human being. But I was eventually able to summon a saner self to tell my weepy self to shut-up as I was clearly just being way too pregnant. A lot of people love me quite intensely, as a matter of fact, which is why I don’t have any time to myself.
Did I mention my three year old has developed an impressive array of adjectives to describe excessively hot weather, including “oppressive” and “sweltering?”
THINGS I WON’T MISS ABOUT BEING PREGNANT
Waking up at 5 a.m. for no explicable reason.
Waiting for the fog my brain is in to lift.
Not being invited to all the social occasions I suspect I’m not being invited to…
The alarming things my bedroom scale says to me every other morning.
THINGS I WILL MISS ABOUT BEING PREGNANT
The great excuse for flatulence.
The lurid quality of dreams and sleep.
The near comatose quality of naps that leave me feeling I've not just napped but time-travelled.
The excuse for naps.
My beautiful, hard, round belly. My preggy shape.
The flattering attention of the type of strangers who wish me well just because I'm pregnant.
Feeling the baby move inside me.
Looking forward to meeting that person who will change everything completely forever.
The conviction (however misplaced) that I look great in a bikini.
Honest 2 Betsy