A few days ago Jennifer (She Who Is Not Blogging During Lent, Which, If You Ask Me, Is Rather Lame-o) and I exchanged some emails detailing our myriad pregnancy complaints. Because, you know. There is really nothing else to think about lately. She asked me how I was managing at work, with the sitting all day etc., and I was planning to write an obnoxious braggy email all about how great I feel. See, the majority of things I have to complain about are of the nervous breakdown variety, not so much the nausea and sciatica variety. This actually growing a human baby thing is a breeze! But then yesterday happened.
I have a very nice office chair at work, but if I hadn't been able to use my eyes and see the lovely gray upholstery and lumbar support, I would have assumed I was sitting on a lumpy backless boulder. My back ached no matter how I adjusted myself. My stomach suddenly bumps up against my desk and dear God was I exhausted. I had all these grand plans for cooking dinner, but instead I went home, burrowed under a blanket on the couch and fell asleep reading Phillip's new copy of Wired.
And then it got worse. Not only was I failing at finding a comfortable way to sit, my belly started to feel like it grew ten sizes. Like, in the course of one afternoon. I stared at myself, wondering how I could possibly feel so huge. And yet, not be very huge at all, at least according to every formerly pregnant woman I talk to, all of whom I would like to plaster with wet slobbery kisses. I started to feel very stretched out and distended. Like after you have eaten Thanksgiving dinner and you need to go lie down, only this time you can't lie down because the baby repeatedly thumps whatever side you've chosen to squish in on him. We had friends over to watch Heroes (holy crap was that a good episode or what!) but it was hard to watch because there were two other people sitting on the couch with me, neither of whom I happened to be married to, and I couldn't very well stretch out across their laps and moan inconsolably, hoping they'd get up and fetch me some ice cream or at least a cabana boy with a bottle of massage oil.
Afterwards I maneuvered myself up the stairs and into bed, where I have replaced my husband with the Boppy pregnancy pillow. My sister bought this for me for Christmas and at first I hated it. "Well I thought you wouldn't use it till you got bigger," she said and I was all, "No no no, I'm already using 14 extra pillows, this one is just stupid." And I would go to sleep at night designing the perfect pillow in my head, one that extends long enough to wedge between your knees and angles out around your tummy and all the way up to your chin. Then a few weeks ago my 14 pillows weren't cutting it and I decided to give the Lima bean pillow another chance. I no longer care about having a pillow to hug, I only wanted something to keep my hips from aching in the middle of the night. And lo, Target has given us the Boppy pregnancy pillow (and a foam egg crate pad). It's a little annoying to shift from side to side, as the pillow must also shift positions and such a thing is impossible to accomplish without completely waking up, but it will also get one's snoring husband to stop the snoring and roll over, so it all works out in the end.
Anyway, I'm looking at ten more weeks of this. And I know it's not even bad. As my Italian teacher would insincerely say, Poverina.
In other news, this baby may have a name. Maybe. I know! A name from list of Rejects, even. It's still not my favorite, but it's growing on me and it's beginning to sound right and everyone assures me that it's a great name. Except my mother-in-law, who was all, "You like THAT name? I don't like that name AT ALL." And then, when Phillip said, "Well, what names DO you like?" she said, "Oh. Well it's not my place to tell you what to name your baby." Sigh.
The baby also has a crib, as we bit the bullet and finally bought something the other night. It's nothing at all like the crib I thought we'd get- something white and babyish and plain jane Ikea. No, it's sturdy and substantial and is stained a deep dark espresso. How this will look in the little yellow bedroom with the unfinished pine dresser and the college-era Ikea bookshelf and the to-be-purchased-from-craigslist glider is up for debate, but after months of discussing and reading up in the Baby Bargains book, it just feels nice to MAKE A DECISION. My requirement was a dropside (no "lifetime" cribs for us, thank you) and Phillip's requirement was hidden dropside hardware lest Baby Cheung get his itty bitty fingers stuck. Out of all the cribs in the Evil Baby Warehouse, only two fit that description (I SWEAR) and one was a horrid frilly flowers-carved-into-the-molding baby castle, so we bought the dark one instead. I'll throw in the Cutest Bedding Ever and pretty soon that dropside will be covered in teeth marks, so it should match everything else in our house eventually. (Why do I feel like I have to defend every single thing we pick out? From the name to the crib to the hospital? Gah. When does that "If you mess with my kid I'll kick your teeth in" instinct show up?)
Anyway, this has rapidly digressed into drivel and I'll be stopping now. Funnily enough, the energy it took to type up all my whining was enough to make me stop thinking about my lower back ache and now it's gone! The power of the personal website!