December 11, 2008 by skwishface
So I’m pregnant. Second child, just edging past the 2nd trimester mark at a full 24 weeks along. That’s roughly 6 months, for those keeping track at home.
I’ve done this baby thing before. My son, hereafter referred to as The Boy, is 21 months old and a solid 30 pounds of giggling destruction and mood swings. The past six months have flown by, what with me being distracted by an active toddler and a rapidly evolving position at work. So I sat down to blog about this new pregnancy, wanting to get my thoughts down on digital paper for perusal at a later date, when the sea of hormones ebbs and takes with it all memory of this time period.
Problem – I couldn’t really think of anything to mention. Not that this pregnancy isn’t just as special and awesome as the last one, but that at this point nothing seems overly noteworthy. We had some drama early on, which will require its own separate post to cover in details, but it’s been smooth sailing for a while and looks to stay that way. Pardon me as I frantically search my metal-and-plastic desk area for some wood to knock on.
Searching for inspiration, I decided to dig through my old blog over on the Myspace. And I found evidence that I was apparently VERY fascinated with my own condition last time ’round.
When I was 3 months preggo with The Boy, I got laid off from my 2nd job in as many months:
9-11-06: Just making ends meet isn’t enough anymore. Just paying the bills and living paycheck to paycheck won’t cut it. Once March rolls around, I’m going to give birth to a wonderful, miraculous, adorable financial sinkhole of a little person, and if our bank account isn’t ready for it … well, we’ll get by somehow. It may suck, it may be hard, and we may dig ourselves a nice little pit of debt, but we’ll get by.
Sigh. I’d just really like to have a stable, decent-paying job to help soften the blow. Also, unemployment is BORING. Daytime TV is crap. My pets are starting to take me for granted. The walls are closing in and the only thing that gets me out of bed at a decent time every day is the gnawing, crippling hunger of being pregnant. Nothing motivates you quite like the distinct sensation that if you don’t get your ass up and find food, your stomach will crawl out of your throat and go hunt the cat.
At 7.5 months, I had a job and returned to my blog. The Fear was starting to set in:
1-8-07: Delayed gratification has never really been my thing, and 30 weeks of waiting is more than enough, methinks. Baby showers are coming up this month, as well as my childbirth classes. I had no idea you could actually take a class to learn how to pop out a human – I’m torn between scoffing at the idea because my maternal instincts will totally get the job done, and scoffing at the idea because there is no way in hell that I am in any way whatsoever qualified to go through this process regardless of the amount of instruction I receive.
More like 8 months, and I was D-O-N-E with the process. Clearly:
2-28-07: So I’m pregnant. But at this stage, I think I can safely capitalize the concept without feeling overly melodramatic.
The belly is huge. When I go out in public, adults do double-takes and children frankly stare until their mothers smack them for being rude. Which is funny, to be honest. Less amusing is the annoying tendency of skinny, perky restaurant hostesses trying to seat me in a booth and then blinking vapidly at me when I ask for a regular table instead. My self-restraint displays itself admirably – I choose to just politely smile at them as they struggle to process this abrupt shift in procedure, rather than shaking them by their narrow little shoulders and spraying them with furious spittle as I scream “LOOK AT ME! I’M NOT SMUGGLING A GODDAM BASKETBALL HERE! HOW THE FUCK DO YOU EXPECT ME TO WEDGE THE MIRACLE OF FUCKING LIFE INTO THIS UNDERSIZED VINYL MEAL COFFIN?!”
By month 9, I was even writing open letters to people in the bathroom:
3-3-07: Dear Anonymous Woman in Bathroom,
Surely you can see, as clearly as I, that there are several open stalls in the ladies’ restroom here at this office. Why must you always use the stall RIGHT NEXT TO MINE? I am always careful to choose a stall near one end of the bathroom or the other, so that you have plenty of options available, and yet you always have to park yourself next to me. Do you think to flatter me with a sychophantic team-peeing? Like maybe you’re my excretory moral support?
Well stop it. It’s creepy. My personal space bubble is larger than a single bathroom stall, and you are invading it. In fact, you’re peeing in it. Every time you do this, and I manage to wash my hands and leave the bathroom before you exit the stall, I’m tempted to turn off the lights on the way out the door. And ya know what? THERE ARE NO WINDOWS IN THAT BATHROOM.
Preggo Who Has to Put Up With This Crap Way Too Often Every Day
Finally, The Boy was born on 3/14/07, and gave the Internet a temporary reprieve from my rampant mommy-blogging.
But guess what? I’m baaaAAAaaaaAAAaaack.