I am so ready to have this baby. I am so ready to have my body back again (well, except for the boobs. he’s got a lease out on those for a few more months still). I want to run. Have a rum and coke. Sleep comfortably again, even if it is two hours at a time in between feedings. To lose my baby weight and wear my cute clothes again. Wear my heels again. Have a margarita. Carry a basket of laundry for myself. To groom my lady parts without using a mirror. Have a glass of wine (not an alcoholic, really, I just have a healthy appreciation for my liquor).
All of my pregnancy books say, “Try to enjoy these last few weeks of pregnancy. You and your baby will never be this close again!” Let me tell you, being 8 3/4 months pregnant is not something to be enjoyed. It’s something to be endured. And when I’m holding him, in my arms, outside of my body, that will be very much close enough. But I do find myself, in rare moments, thinking hey, this isn’t so bad. Especially for what I’m getting out of it. I guess that’s how women are able to have more than one, isn’t it?
I’ve been trying to think of all the things I might want to do in these next 12 or so days that I wont be able to do again for a very long time. You would think sleeping would be one of those things, but that’s just not working out so well. Everything aches. With or without any amount of pillows, on my side, sitting up, on the couch. I have to switch sides exactly every two hours because it feels like my hips and pelvic bones are being torn apart (hey, I guess they really are), and it’s a major accomplishment to roll over in bed at this point.
So besides sleeping, I figure that seeing grownup movies in a theater is probably something we wont be able to do for a long while. We went to see X-Men: The Last Stand over the weekend. It was good, but uncomfortably loud. The whole time I tried to cover my so-huge belly with my hands, thinking maybe I could block some of the noise, worried that it was hurting the baby’s ears. So we want to go again before he comes, maybe something quieter this time. A chick-flick or something.
I can’t think of anything else I’d want to do before officially becoming a parent. Anything that doesn’t involve irresponsibility or possible bodily harm (like bungee jumping). Because the truth is, I already am a parent. If I wanted to do anything like that I would have had to do it before I got pregnant. Now I’m locked into an 18-year contract.
But really I think there’s probably more I can’t do now, pregnant, than there will be when he’s born.