Thursday, November 29, 2012

End of Pregnancy Insanity

I'll never understand why women become certifiably insane in the final weeks of pregnancy but it happens.  Every. Single. Time.

Theoretically, it should be the easiest time.  The days are numbered.  You have arrived.  The long 40 weeks are finally coming to close.  Nobody expects much of you.  You can sit in your house in your tattered yoga pants and eat ice cream directly from the carton and not a single person will dare to roll an eye at you.  Who cares if they're only agreeable because they fear you'll punch that eye right out of its socket if they so much as look at you funny.

"Your body is ahead of the curve."

That's what my midwife told me at my appointment on Tuesday.  I'm so far progressed that this baby is nearly falling out of me.  The problem is, this happens to me every single time.  And I get all excited slash nervous that this baby is going to come early. Except they never do.  Well, my first did but that was the only pregnancy I didn't care about going early.  Go figure.

So technically I have two weeks left.  But when my midwife says "any day now" those two weeks turn into 336 excruciatingly long hours.

Yesterday I went on a tirade.  All these things on The List that seem so quick and simple have gotten pushed by the wayside.  They all seem like easy last-minute items.  But when they pile up, suddenly it's one big giant project of little things.

I started opening dresser drawers and closet doors and found myself unable to breathe.  All this stuff!  It had to go!  Purge, purge, purge.

"We'll do it on Saturday," Brian said.

No! Now!  I wanted to scream.  How important can that conference call really be?  Not nearly as important as getting rid of this old lamp, I bet.

I told him I was suddenly feeling overwhelmed.  That I simultaneously wanted to cry my eyes out while punching someone in the face.

"I know.  I could tell this morning," he said.

And then I told him he needed to work on his empathy skills.

He's just in the line of my fire.  It's not his fault.  Well, I mean, kind of it is.  I didn't get pregnant all by my lonesome.

You see?  Certifiably insane.

Once that baby is in my arms I know I'll wonder what all my fuss was about.

But until then, this is where I'm at.  One giant hormonal beast who will donate anything she finds in her path to Good Will.  Watch out Nash Family.

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