So, I am now officially 12 years pregnant.
The elephant's gestation period is 22 months, the longest of any land animal.
My actual due date is May the 7th, but taking into consideration that ole Snoodie-butt arrived 12 days past HIS original due date, I am conservatively estimating that I will give birth to his sibling sometime around Christmas.
Though I can't speak for him, I think it is fair to say that this is the phase of pregnancy that David has been dreading the most. If our experience with Snoodie's birth is any indication, the next several days (or, God forbid, weeks) shall involve me wandering around the house in outsized maternity muu-muus wailing loudly over and over again,
"I am going to be pregnant forever!"
David will calmly attempt to assert that recent medical literature suggests that such a thing is not actually possible, while I remain convinced that I, alone, have been chosen to be the world's first eternally pregnant woman. There will be crying and yes, some yelling.
My emotions are running a little *high* these days. I had to re-calibrate my entire sense of emotional self yesterday when, having left the radio on while doing some dishes, I found myself SOBBING UNCONTROLLABLY at that horrible Taylor Swift song about Romeo and Juliet. Seriously, I wept for almost 10 minutes thinking about how those two kids were able to make love work despite the odds.
I'm in a WIERD place.
On the positive side, I've reached the stage of having a full-term human in my abdomen where I feel justified in my belief that WHATEVER I want to do is totally acceptable. Especially when it comes to the snacking.
Here's a quick sample of yesterday's menu:
- Three Super Pretzels
- Burger King Value Meal #9
- A glazed doughnut
- A large glass of Strawberry Quik (did you even remember that such a product existed? I didn't until late last week when I woke up feeling like if I did not consume a gallon of the stuff immediately I was going to maim someone)
- Half a pint of Heath Bar Crunch Ice Cream
- Three peanut butter sandwiches
At some point in the late afternoon, my neighbor's four-year-old daughter came over to play and brought some Pop Tarts to munch on. It truly took all the self-control I could humanly muster not to violently mug her for them.
Oh, the deliciousness!
David is seriously considering implementing a new house rule banning me from visiting the grocery store unsupervised.
But, what can I say, tasty treats are the only joy left to me.
Everything else is just the waiting.
Oh, and also fielding the occasional "Have you had that baby, yet?" phone call/email. (People, a quick heads up! I didn't forget to notify you! If you haven't heard about the baby it's because IT'S STILL IN MY UTERUS!! ROAR!!!!!)
Yeah, I guess I'm not in what you'd call "a good place".
Please keep your collective fingers crossed that next week, in place of more insane and rage-fueled ramblings, these pages with feature a tasteful yet joyous birth announcement.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'm in the mood for a snack.
