Week thirty-five

The thirty-fifth week seems to be the week that pregnancy forgot. Nothing super special (por ejemplo: “This week your baby has sprouted eyeballs!” or “Your child can now hear you talking dirty to your significant other!”) is listed on the calendars. We don’t even get to make a very exciting fruit-analogy jump. Nope. We just go from cantaloupe to honeydew. Yawn-a-rific. A lot less listeria involved, however.

I spent some time in the bathroom the other night marveling at these stretch marks. They are like licks of flames crawling up my belly, a sick symmetry to them. Kinda like this, sans evil skull. I sort of want to show them to you, internet, but I also sort of don’t want to. I’m torn. My vanity is still too strong at this point.

I’m sleeping like crap pretty much every night now. Too much time on one side starts to make one hip cramp up and if I sleep on my back I snore and wake the neighbors. There is so much peeing and so much flipping that has to be done every other hour or so. It’s a very busy time between about 3 and 9 a.m. I’m sure Ray isn’t sleeping well because of me either but he’s pretty good about only pinching my nose so I’ll shut up once a night or so. Heh. 35 weeks

Still no tangible nesting urges taking hold of me yet. Just a vague idea of all the shit I need to get done. I am not frantically cleaning anything, even though I know I should want to. Or something. The light fixtures in the bathroom as dusty as a motherfucker and yet the energy it would take to extend my arm, weighted by a damp rag, up there to them to scrub off the dust? YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.

The office has been a wreck since we set it up all those weeks ago, and there are at least three piles of cat puke in there I have been ignoring. I need to organize all my Etsy supplies, because I would like to be able to still take and ship orders during my maternity leave, when the extra income is going to be a big help. And yet, the word “organize” has always given me hives, and right now it seems like a particularly foreign concept.

The nursery is sort of in limbo because I have not yet been hit with the creative urge to whip out a big art piece for above the crib, even though I have one in mind and have all the supplies ready to go. We still need a rug to go in there but I am low on cash at the moment. I’m still not quite sure how to organize the clothes and diapers into a workable system. I guess those systems might just sort of evolve over time, so I am not going to sweat it too much right now. I’m still lacking some pretty basic supplies that I will need to round up before too much time ticks away (plain white onesies and cloth diaper detergent, you’re on deck). Ashley pointed me to this fabulous piece of furniture she saw on Craigslist that I need to check on now that I’ve been paid. It would be perfect for the nursery, considering we don’t really have a dresser for the kiddo and I don’t want to be hanging up every piece of his clothing from day one. But I need to measure the room to make sure it will fit well. Etc.

Our bedroom is a total wreck. It’s full of baby stuff that we’re hiding from the cats — the stroller, the car seat, the bouncy, the exersaucer, etc. The closet is teeming with that stuff plus bags of winter clothes that I will need to make sure I can get to easily when the weather turns.

I have a LivingSocial deal for some housecleaning services in the event that I can’t bring myself to do a major scrub-down of the house before week 39 or so. Ray’s been talking about needing to winterize the windows to try and get the place more insulated so it’s not the usual icebox this winter. I need to coax him into cleaning the gutters because I swear there is an oak tree sprouting up there. I’d like to do some decluttering of every drawer and cabinet in the house, and go ahead and finish designing the birth announcements and get envelopes labeled and stamped and ready to go. I need to make a phone tree and make sure all the numbers are in both our phones.

Oh god, just starting to list this stuff has exhausted me, and it’s not really even about anything. Just shit I need to get done that I don’t want to do. Bah!

But you know what? None of it really matters all that much. So I ain’t skeered.

2 thoughts on “Week thirty-five

  1. *Heaves and pants, reaching for the keyboard screen in the sweaty throes of impotent zeal*

    If I lived there I would be over organizing and scrubbing your house for you and folding baby clothes into drawer-oriented, stackable squares while you sat on the couch being fanned by my zipping back and forth. You might even look up from the meal I brought of whatever’s better than Dorito Shells and Cheese Casserole and an elderberry spritzer to direct me to another cat furball and refer to me as Igor.

    If you don’t believe me, ask Alicia.

    I’m getting hives thinking of NOT helping you do all that stuff.

    I’m sure moving 800 hours North whilst 8-months-ish pregnant is doable, right?

  2. Ha! PT beat me to it.

    I’m itching to help. Give me the green light, and I will have that place organized, 100% functional, and smelling like Fabuloso in no time.

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