And Now to the Other End of the Spectrum

So I had planned to do a super awesome post on my sister's first marathon (GO Ellen!!!), but I am short on time at the moment because this week of work SUXXXXXX. So unfortunately that post will have to wait until this work week eventually spits me back out come Friday.

So I went to the doctor about two weeks ago (I started going every two weeks at this point so they can make sure little Baby D isn't falling out the chute too early,) and as it turns out...he kinda was.

Well, hold on - let me reign in my overdramatics here for a second.

The baby isn't actually falling out of my lady bits. I guess what's happening is that (men, turn away....TURN AWAY!!! No? Well, consider yourselves warned) my cervix was getting itself all ready a tad (10 weeks) early. So not only was I taken completely off running, but I am completely off any sort of activity. I imagine I would be on "bed rest" if I wasn't a psychologist who's job consisted of a lot of sitting.

(Side note: And who knew sitting was so effing boring and leads to the most hellacious swollen feet?!?! Not this fatty.)

As that appointment, my doctor said she "would like to see [me] get another a month under [my] belt."

A MONTH?!?!?!

As in - 4 weeks? As in, this baby might come at 34 weeks?!?!

This momma ain't ready, yo.

I mean, we haven't even had a shower (it was planned for early December - cue look of shock from my doctor), and we haven't taken any baby-is-coming classes (cue second look of shock). Needless to say, I spent the weekend pretty much laid-up on the couch, kept company by my insane anxiety that I was cooking this baby all wrong and he/she was going some out all scrawny and headed straight to the incubator.

And trust me, anxiety and guilt does not a good combo make - especially during Halloween season, when there are far to many "fun size" Twix and peanut butter cups for my own good.

Shit - I should be ashamed for that pouting I do on the scale at the doctor's office - I have no one to blame but myself.

And the baby.

The baby really makes me do it.

Still attached to the umbilical cord, but already a sugar addict.

Definitely my kid.

So we went back to the doctor yesterday, and the doctor talked me off the ledge a little - things aren't necessarily any better, and I began having (I think) contractions this past weekend, so she took a test that would help us determine/rule out pre-term labor. I was supposed to get the result tonight, but screwed up and called to late. I'll get on that tomorrow.

We did, however, discuss my birth plan at the appointment yesterday. It went a lil'
somethin' like this:

Doctor: I usually tell people not to get too attached to their birth plan.
Me: Oh, well mine's pretty simple. Step 1: Gimme the drugs. Step 2: Take the baby out.
Doctor: *blank stare*
Me: I'm a two-stepper. I like it simple.

(P.S. If you're one of those "natural" birthers - more power to you, but I'm not interested. I've already had the lecture from a lady I used to supervise about how I should try to push through the pain sans drugs because the experience of feeling the contractions and every inch of the birth process is unforgettable. Oh yeah, I bet it is *sarcasm* But here's the thing - I'll surely have many hours of feeling the contractions pre-push, and then the baby comes out, which is actually the part I prefer to remember, so I don't really mind being numbed up for the middle part, you know?)

I should also mention that this discussion of my in-depth birth plan was followed by my doctor telling us a story about a woman who ate her own placenta afterwards.

Fuck.

No.

Thank gosh she was as repulsed as me but this idea, because if she was actually advocating this for me, I'd be trolling Craig's List for a new doctor instead of posting about the ridiculousness of organ-eating.

*shudder*

So that's where we are at - no running, minimal moving, candy-binging, couch-surfing - ahhh, it sounds like so much fun until it isn't.

But the good news? This kid is CRAZY active - almost all day, everyday. Makes me so happy to feel him/her just rolling around in there, tickling my ribs with his/her toes (okay, well maybe that doesn't feel awesome, but it's still amazing that it's even happening, right?!?!) And I love it when my husband talks to him/her through my enormous belly. It's really sweet, and one of the best parts of this experience.

Have I mentioned how awesome my husband is? No? Well he is. I don't know how I would have made this far without him. It makes me speechless to think that this amazing human being is the father of my child. Any given moment throughout my day, I catch myself fantasizing about watching him walking hand-in-hand down the street with our little dude/dudette.

Sigh.

Another few weeks and we will be parents.

Despite these minor bumps, life is really, really good.

Okay, off to do some more work so I can actually get a few hours of sleep tonight.

Later, yo.