Good Monday to you, friends. Today marks my thirty-first week of pregnancy and I'm feeling a little like I might fall over with every step. How women are built to accommodate this kind of insanity is miraculous. And what about those who carry three, four, five or more around in their bodies? A woman's equilibrium is a genius accessory and every week of growth I am more and more in awe of my ability to stand up, sit down, fight fight fight.
I decided, since it's been five weeks since last rocking a unitard, I'd try the sucker on for size (one more time?) hence the above. And below. And whoa. And yes, I took it off promptly after trying it on because the stretching was such that you could see right through it, which is not my favorite look. And also because the crotch split open. Hello. One of the perks of being this huge is that I don't even have to wear a bra anymore. My uterus has expanded in such a way that it now acts as an underwire bra with built in push-up!
@ seventeen weeks
@ 19 weeks
Several of you asked in the comments of my last post, what the hell is up with the floors being so clean? and the answer is: I'M PREGNANT! I am the nestiest nester anyway but when I'm weeks away from giving birth? You'll be damn right shit's gonna be in order! Unfortunately I'm unable to bend at the waist so I've literally been scooting around on my ass picking up after everyone. Which is what I spend my evenings doing (while watching Househunters International, obviously).
It feels strange getting to thirty-one weeks, even though statistically, according to everywhere, the average twin birth happens around 37 weeks. Still, when you listen to doctors tell you "our goal is for you to make it to thirty weeks!" and you do it feels... now what-ish... Especially when you've been experiencing a pretty non-eventful pregnancy thus far.
I feel in a way like this is a bonus round when in reality, the majority of women deliver twins pretty close to term. I didn't know this until recently. I almost ASSUMED I'd be on bed rest by now, or worse... That's the thing about the Internet. It tells you everything you don't want to hear.
Babies were almost four pounds (each) last week, and apparently, thanks to an abundance of fluid, there is still plenty of room for them to grow (and even turn). If by thirty-five weeks Baby A is still breach (both babes are still breach) I'll have to schedule a C-section. Regardless, I'll be delivering in the OR because even if I am able to deliver vaginally, I'll still have to be prepped for surgery just in case of fetal emergency with "B" after "A" arrives. I'm also told I'll have a thousand people in the room with me, which is a very new experience. When I I gave birth to Archer, Hal practically delivered him for me because my EX-OB was "busy" doing a scheduled C and the nurses didn't believe me when we said "HE'S COMING OUT NOW!" (I got a new doctor AND a new hospital after that.) Anyway. I'm preparing myself for a very different experience than the one where I labored quietly with Hal as he cracked jokes about needing Veneers. (At the time he was working on a makeover show and watched hours and HOURS and HOURS of footage each week of women getting veneers.) My husband should win an award for worst labor coach of all time but in a weird way, that's kind of why I love him.
Anyway, while I have your attention, here are three more things to bore you with:
1. Fable started going pee on the potty, which means, she is officially rocking the Dora undies and we could not be more proud of her potty-awesomeness.
2. Hal and I went and saw a movie together, (Crazy Stupid Love is crazy awesome and we loved it) something we won't be able to do pretty soon. (Hal actually joined the Producers Guild just for the perk of getting screeners so we could still "go to the movies" in our living room since we'll never be able to afford to hire a babysitter again.)
3. I decided I can't be bothered with cooking so much as an egg and have us living on takeout, which has never happened before (We are not typically takeout people at all because it's a total waste of money) but I have to admit, it's been fun. And while we're on the subject of food, Hal spent $50 on TWO watermelons last week because the ONLY delicious watermelons we can find (right now) are at Whole
Paycheck Foods for $1.89 a pound, which adds up quickly when you're buying 18 pound watermelons and going through one every three days. If we had a mortgage, we'd be taking out a second one just to afford all this fucking watermelon I insist on eating in bulk to keep from dying.
you are what you eat?
I did have ONE bad night of reflux-terrible last week which woke me in the wee hours of the night and sent me running toward the kitchen so that I could plant my entire face in a watermelon. An hour later, I was cured.
Archer had his first drum lesson (go Archer!) this week during which Fable asked if she could start taking guitar lessons. (Girl digs her some guitar.)
She's too young, obviously, but Hal and I had to laugh because our joke about having enough kids to start a family garage band might just be the case. It's just a question of what instruments R&B will want to play.
In the meantime, Fable is now the proud owner of BIG GIRL UNDERWEAR, which she has been wearing on her head since Saturday because she claims she is a "poo poo head". (Everyone is a poo-poo head according to Fable.)
Later that afternoon, she came up with one of the more genius explanations of life, death and farts when rushing to the potty to poop only to excrete a false alarm (ed: a fart). She explained to Archer and me that her poop had died. And THAT'S what a fart is: a dead poop.
"Poor poop," she said.
Where Archer is the philosopher among us, Fable is the comedienne. She's by the far the funniest person I know and she's not even three yet.
Time will tell what the babies will dazzle and delight us with, whether it be poop jokes or poetry, dance moves or Rocket Science, botany or freestyle canoe. Can't wait to meet them and find out.
"I love you baby poo-poo heads!"