Monday I hit 36 weeks pregnant. My back hurts, my ass pain keeps me from being able to sit down easily (picture yourself with a watermelon strapped to your stomach as you hover over a chair and pray you can sit down without screaming– that’s my ass pain), the baby is running out of room in there and has decided to use random parts of my insides to punch. Little Baby Graziano (LBG) is head down (woo) but is definitely practicing his/her handstands in there. LBG is using both sides of my ribs to balance is shoving their tiny-ass toes in between my ribs for balance. Great.
We are blessed to live in Colorado. That means less humidity, but it doesn’t save us from the heat. We’re in the high 90s all week and, frankly, I want to sit in a kiddie pool full of Sonic ice in my basement. We have central air and a portable evap cooler, but I still just want to walk around naked. This normally wouldn’t be a problem. I work from home, I set reminders to put on a shirt and pants when I have video conference calls. I got this! But we decided to redo our bathroom shower at 36 weeks pregnant. Why? Because I’m a glutton for punishment or just severe/insane nesting. (This does seem to be a trend, as we refinanced our house the week of our wedding). So basically, for a week and a half, I have to keep clothes on while the contractor is here. Booooooooo.
As for LBG, we are ready for their arrival. Nursery is done. Hospital bags are packed. Still need to put together the go bag for the dog and set a reminder to take the 8lb pork shoulder out of the freezer once we go into labor. My dad was very adamant about that: “Courtney, someone needs to remember to take that pork shoulder out of the freezer. I can’t smoke it if it is frozen solid. Don’t forget to do that.” Okay, Dad, between the agonizing contractions, remembering to put everything in the car, liquid probably falling out of me, making sure the dog is taken care of, calling my husband and the doctor, I’ll be sure to take the pork out to defrost. (I’m not really complaining. My folks will be flying in from Tucson to meet their one and only grandchild 7 days after I go into labor. My Mom has offered to keep the house clean and my Dad, who could put all those Iron Chef fuckers to shame* is going to make a ton of freezer meals for us, with the aforementioned giant pork shoulder in my freezer).
—brb I need bacon and eggs, for lunch. Yes, it is nitrate free, uncured bacon. Yes, the eggs are organic. Stop judging me. —
I know what you’re thinking: “Oh goodie, another mommy blog.” I don’t have a fantasy that I’m going to suddenly be famous, speaking about being a mom, pregnancy and all the other fancy things I’m going to blog about and make you jealous of my perfect life (bullshit). I’m not going to be Instagram famous, don’t care. Although, if you do follow me on Instagram you’re probably sick of pictures of my dog. Well get ready folks. you’re about to get sick of pictures of my dog, my baby, and my dog AND baby together. Suck it up and double tap, you know you want to. I need a place to vent. A place to share the aches and pains of pregnancy, parenthood, and when I’m not sleeping and drooling on the couch (most likely with a baby attached to my boob) my sewing and knitting. I love crafty projects and hope to be able to squeeze those things occasionally. So sit back and enjoy my nonsense people, it is only going to make less and less sense when this kid arrives.
*I swear. I swear a lot. I’m not sorry. I worked in politics for too long, being the only female, I swear. I think my husband is worried our kid’s first word will be fuck. Nah we’ll just tell them it was truck.