Initial surprise notwithstanding, I have to say I’m pretty freaking happy that li’l miss is coming into the world a good week or so earlier than planned.
At 38w1d, I’m extremely uncomfortable. I know I keep bitching and moaning about it, but as anyone who has made it to this point (and sometimes beyond) can tell you, the last weeks aren’t much fun.
in the nude…
Currently, I don’t like wearing clothes. I haven’t bought a stitch of maternity gear, so the the few loose-fitting items I wore in month six, seven and even eight REALLY don’t fit me now. I’ve resorted to a pair of tights and pajama pants borrowed from mum, and a few stretchy tank tops. When I wear my own clothes, I look as though I’ve been stuffed into them. It’s impossible to look cute now, which is why I’ve pretty much stopped leaving the house. I’ve always been comfortable in the buff, but now that I’ve moved into ginormous territory, I am happiest in just my underwear (and even those feel too constricting at times) with a sheet covering me for modesty.
the itchy & scratchy show…
WHY DOES EVERYTHING ITCH ALL OVER? Everywhere I have skin, I have an itch to accompany it. Maddening, I tell you. And once I scratch one part, it sets of a kind of pruritic avalanche, and I start raking my nails over my skin for minutes at a time. I’ve become like a bear in the wild, rubbing my back (and any part I can’t reach) across any rough surface that will provide relief.
hand me ups?
My friends have generously donated most of Peanut’s clothes and play gear; aside from a few outfits that I’ve purchased, her stroller/car seat and her Pack ‘n’ Play, everything that she owns is a hand-me-down of sorts.
Last week, the boy’s friends Ralph and Rachel sent over a literal carload of gear and goodies for the baby, and let me tell you, if I wasn’t overwhelmed by generosity before, the needle on the OMG-o-meter has leaned so far to the right, it’s fallen off. They sent over all manner of rockers, swings, vibrating chairs, seats, harnesses…and then there were the clothes. Rachel’s taste is certainly more girly/high-fashionista than mine, and the things she sent over had me squealing in delight and surprise. I will never tire of mini couture!
Little leopard print and denim leggings, sequinned cardigans, crocheted beanies, and faux-fur vests. Adidas and Puma tracksuits (in pink, natch – argh), Disney, DC Comics and Sesame Street motifs. Ruffles, bows, sparkles and frills…scaled-down versions of the types of things I wish I could wear (and afford – heh). Everything super-girly and most of it with tags still attached. Peanut will definitely dress better than her mama. I am going to have to step up my game when I go out with her. She won’t want to be seen with me! 😀
There will be a few things I miss about being pregnant, namely feeling my girl move and writhe around inside me. But where her movements were gentle and rolling last month, they are bigger and more purposeful now, and while they don’t quite hurt, I don’t find them quite as…adorable as I did in the early days.
I will miss my license to sleep and eat whenever I want, although I hear breastfeeding requires extra calories and new moms are encouraged to rest up when they can. This means I don’t have to cross gluttony and sloth off my list of sins just yet.
Most of all, I will miss the cuddles I have been getting from our dog, Nakita, for the last few weeks. In a family of three, I am the middle tier on ‘Kita’s Hierarchy of Love. She absolutely adores my father. She loves me a whole lot (and I’m the only one in the family she “talks” to). She could take or leave my mother, unfortunately, which I think is on account of my mother’s penchant for squealing at her and being overly-attentive when all the dog wants to do is lie down comfortably – and quietly.
Since about the middle of month eight, Nakita has taken to following me around the house and resting her head on my belly whenever I take a seat on the couch. It’s pretty cute, really, as it seems like a protective gesture as opposed to a just a loving one. She knows that there’s something going on inside me, and my only hope is she is as friendly toward what’s inside the bump once it comes out.
We’ll see in three days, won’t we?