You're Killing Me, Kid
Methinks Moosebaby is running out of space.
Gone are the days of frantic random movement in the midsection. These days, every movement has a purpose, and it seems to be a purpose similar to sticking one's leg out into the aisle of any given Southwest Airlines flight after about 30 minutes of kissing one's knees.
Must...stretch...too crowded...
I can't remember if Bob's movements were similar at this point in that pregnancy. It's been too long ago and truthfully, I've put a mental block on as much of that time period as possible. But it seems this kid is, well, further along than just 32 weeks. Unless maybe all that extra sugar I've been pushing into him has turned him into, literally, a moose baby and he's damn near pushing the 10 pound mark already.
Yikes. That could suck.
I'm torn between wanting him to come early just so I can be done with the whole "being pregnant" gig, and wanting him to wait because, well, I've planned on the first week of June all this time, and I'd like it to be warm when he gets here, and his waiting would better suit my budget and all, and I'm just that anal retentive. I'm still nesting, after all.
In addition to painting the dining room this weekend, I de-dogged the baby's room. Miss Thang was officially evicted on Sunday morning when I discovered she'd spent the better part of Saturday night chewing the cord to my new electric broom into multiple pieces. After beating her with one of the pieces, I hauled her bed out into the hallway and informed Ben he needed to find new sleeping quarters for his beast.
And we've officially decided large family gatherings for no particular reason (such as a major holiday) are no longer feasible for us. Bob just can't deal with a crowd of people that big. Now, if mother in law decides to clear out her damn basement and turn it into a "grandchildren's rumpus room," we might change our minds--but as it is now, they just don't have enough occupyable square footage in their house to accommodate that many relatives and keep Bob (and us, for that matter) from losing his fucking mind.
And speaking of the clutter at my in-laws', I accidentally stumbled upon (literally) a HUGE pile of baby crap yesterday. Holy. Shit. Good thing I found it, because I've been getting the urge to buy stuff. And judging from the pile I found, that would be a foolish endeavor, indeed. Which is all well and good, and I appreciate her generosity and all--but really, I wish she'd stop. Really. Because when someone goes overboard on gifts, it makes me very uncomfortable. It makes me feel like I somehow "owe" them, even if I didn't ask for anything. And if there's one thing I hate, it's feeling beholden to someone else.
Gone are the days of frantic random movement in the midsection. These days, every movement has a purpose, and it seems to be a purpose similar to sticking one's leg out into the aisle of any given Southwest Airlines flight after about 30 minutes of kissing one's knees.
Must...stretch...too crowded...
I can't remember if Bob's movements were similar at this point in that pregnancy. It's been too long ago and truthfully, I've put a mental block on as much of that time period as possible. But it seems this kid is, well, further along than just 32 weeks. Unless maybe all that extra sugar I've been pushing into him has turned him into, literally, a moose baby and he's damn near pushing the 10 pound mark already.
Yikes. That could suck.
I'm torn between wanting him to come early just so I can be done with the whole "being pregnant" gig, and wanting him to wait because, well, I've planned on the first week of June all this time, and I'd like it to be warm when he gets here, and his waiting would better suit my budget and all, and I'm just that anal retentive. I'm still nesting, after all.
In addition to painting the dining room this weekend, I de-dogged the baby's room. Miss Thang was officially evicted on Sunday morning when I discovered she'd spent the better part of Saturday night chewing the cord to my new electric broom into multiple pieces. After beating her with one of the pieces, I hauled her bed out into the hallway and informed Ben he needed to find new sleeping quarters for his beast.
And we've officially decided large family gatherings for no particular reason (such as a major holiday) are no longer feasible for us. Bob just can't deal with a crowd of people that big. Now, if mother in law decides to clear out her damn basement and turn it into a "grandchildren's rumpus room," we might change our minds--but as it is now, they just don't have enough occupyable square footage in their house to accommodate that many relatives and keep Bob (and us, for that matter) from losing his fucking mind.
And speaking of the clutter at my in-laws', I accidentally stumbled upon (literally) a HUGE pile of baby crap yesterday. Holy. Shit. Good thing I found it, because I've been getting the urge to buy stuff. And judging from the pile I found, that would be a foolish endeavor, indeed. Which is all well and good, and I appreciate her generosity and all--but really, I wish she'd stop. Really. Because when someone goes overboard on gifts, it makes me very uncomfortable. It makes me feel like I somehow "owe" them, even if I didn't ask for anything. And if there's one thing I hate, it's feeling beholden to someone else.
posted by Mitzi Green at 11:07 AM
1 Comments:
I used to feel like that but not anymore. If people want to buy me stuff and give me things, they can be my guest. My budget doesn't allow my pride to take precedence anymore.
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