So I have reached the point where I’m bored with this whole pregnancy thing. The baby’s arrival is still 4 months away, and it seems like I have been pregnant forever. I mean, I know it hasn’t really been forever, but 6 months feels like a long time to me. I am kind of sick of thinking about all things pregnancy-related, am nauseated at the idea of being huge and round for another 16 weeks, and am darn tired of having the least exciting social life ever. I mean, who wants to spend New Year’s Eve with a sober basketball with legs? Not me, that’s who.
Sean’s a good sport, and he’s very encouraging- always telling me how pretty I still am (liar) and making nice with my tum. But I wonder how long that will last. I mean, eventually he’s gonna get sick of it too. I mean, I’d be annoyed if Sean all of a sudden packed on 20-30 pounds and started being a giant emotional stick in the mud. What? I’m just being honest.
So that’s where I’m today. Maybe it’s a tritophan hangover or mashed potato and gravy overload. I don’t know. I do know that I would like to sock all those women who think pregnancy is this great glorious sunshine and puppies, rainbows and ice cream sort of experience. Blow it out your butt, I would say to them. [Sorry, dear readers, if any of you happen to be that sort of woman- know that I’m just a bitter round person].
I’d love to tell you about the baby this week, but I just don’t have the energy to force excitement about it at the moment. Give me twenty minutes. I’m sure the emotional roller coaster I’m on will have me in a different mood by then.