December Third

Sunday, I will officially be "full term." Thirty-seven weeks. And, as my parents can affirm, I am impatient as shit. Don't wanna wait. Want it NOW.

*sigh*

One last ultrasound tomorrow, at 8:30 AM. Just to check that all is well.

I've got elbows, feet, arms poking out all over the place. From my ribs to my hipbones. As ready as I am to finally meet Jackson, to get my body back, to walk and not waddle, to drink not a glass, but a BOTTLE of wine...I'm really going to miss being pregnant. This is it, the last time. I am torn between wanting to stay pregnant just a littttle bit longer, and wanting more than anything for labor to begin. Now.

I have only two more days of work left. Thank you GOD. My mind tells me that I can run around the restaurant and take every table that walks in the door. My body is like, "No no honey. Slow that waddle down now."

And let me tell you, I can't corner like I used to.

So send labor vibes. We are ready and waiting, all of us. Joe...Seth...me...

So...um...YEAH

Thirty-Five weeks.

Hold on...it gets better...





















Check out the side view.

Are you sick of seeing these pants? I am. And sick of wearing them.





















DAMN.





















I either...

A. Never got this big with Seth or
B. Conveniently forgot.

In any case, Dr. Clark says I am measuring just fine. I have begun dialating, just a little bit. And come December, it's game on. I am getting incredibly impatient.




















The view from our porch a few days ago. Today, it was 60 degrees. WILDNESS.

So, I make the decision to end my babymaking days. Get my tubes tied. I hate the way that sounds. "Tubes tied." Blech. Anywho, I head over to the medical center at the hospital to sign my fertility away. I detour into ER to ask a nurse the following:

"Been having Braxton-Hicks every five minutes for about three hours. Should I be concerned?"

Answer: Yes.

I am sent up to Labor and Delivery at 3PM. I am hooked up to monitors. Given an IV. Checked inside and out. Given a fetal fibronectin test, which will tell us all if I will have Jackson in the next week or two (HOLY SHIT, HUH?).

Turns out, no. Contractions were 3-5 minutes apart, but by the time I left at 8:30PM, they were sporadic at best. Jackson has not dropped, which I knew, because I can still walk. He is head down in the blast-off position. And all is well in the shire. The diagnosis was dehydration.

Soooooo...we know we've got two more weeks of baking the bun. Which is a huge relief. Aaaaaaand...on December 3rd, I will be 37 weeks along. Which means BooBoo can be born anytime after that, and be just dandy.

Bring. It. On.

Eight

Seth's eighth birthday. EIGHTH. Gawd. The Hoover's joined us for an afternoon of bowling, cake, soda, and fun. I couldn't stand it. I had to be a part of it. I weeblewobbled on up and bowled a 113. REEESPECT ya'll.















There was much thunder on our end of the building. The kids launched balls halfway down the lanes, then we all egged them on as the balls crept slowly to one bumper, then the other, then rebounded into the pins. The kids made a few spares. It was most impressive.

Then we had cake:















And opened gifts:















I highly recommend these holographic glasses for everyone. You can get them in the party supply aisle at WalMart. Joe tried them on the night before, paired with some hideous Bubba Teeth. I laughed so hard I peed my pants. Which doesn't take much lately. But whatever. These glasses are a scream.

Here, the adults pair the glasses with "candy sticks." Which is the PC term for candy cigarettes.















And you all KNOW what comes next.

"Hey kids! Ya'll come over and try these on! Put this candy in your mouths! Look real, real mean...OK...hold that pose..."

Past events

First, the good stuff you've all been waiting for. Just how big has Heather gotten? JESUS.

31 weeks...





















And 33 weeks.
























It's ok to be scared of The Belly. It defies all reason and balance.

On to Halloween. Seth was a samurai. Don't call him a ninja. He'll have to kill you. We hit downtown Blowing Rock for trick or treat with Ingrid and the kids. Seth learned about quality, not quantity. What he lacked in volume, he made up for in superior quality of candy. Butterfingers. Snickers. Milky Way DARKS. And Almond Joys! Joy! Yeah, there were some other things mixed in...a tootsie roll here, and Smartie there. But chocolate was the the clear winner.















I wanna be just like these two. I wanna be a skunk next year. I usually go for the slutty policewoman/devil/justplainslut look, but I have been swayed from my skanky ways. besides, skunk is way more "Mom-Appropriate."















Our assorted Jack O'Lanterns:















The one on the left is Seth's own design. I carved the little "BOO" one in the middle. For both, I used a dull paring knife and a steak knife. While carving, I broke a sweat and censored myself repeatedly, for Seth's sake. The one on the right was carved by our friend Luke, for our baby shower (details next). See the baby feet eyes? And the "JJ" in the mouth (for Jackson Jerry)?

The baby shower. Thrown by Kristin and Luke. (Kristin, if you just gave me a minute, I was gonna give you props) . Tons o'food, tons o'loot...Jackson is a lucky little dude.

Frustrated

Yah, I know. It HAS been a while since I've posted. I've been a bit...OVERWHELMED lately. Why, you ask?

Braxton Hicks are kicking my ass. It is hard to walk/bend/wait tables/breathe when your abdomen from crotch to ribcage feels like a rock. Quite often.

Housework. Housework. Housework.

Homework. Homework. Homework.

I'm tired, ya'll.

I know that this diet I'm on is beneficial for all. However, I'm not creative in the kitchen. I am getting incredibly bored with my food choices.

I'm nervous, ya'll. What if I have to have a c-section? What if Jackson isn't healthy? Whatifwhatifwhatif...

I know I am a lush. Those who know me know this, so they won't be surprised when I say I COULD USE SOME WINE. I know...it's OK to have one. I need a bottle.

My support system is my friend Amanda. Thank GOD for Amanda. She lets me vent. She lets my cry hysterically. She lets me be mad, all without judgement.

Laura, if you are reading...I'm about ready for Italy.

OK. Pity party is over.