week 33: living for 36 weeks.

did i tell you that i experienced my first for reals braxton hicks last week? rhythmic, every few minutes, seriously freaky.  not painful, except in the sense that they were attention-grabbing, but present nonetheless.

so i did what the childbirth class said to do: i got up and did something else.  and it worked. they went away.

but now i know what a supermild contraction is like. and i also know that i can bake through them. my mom thinks i'm crazy to think that i'll be baking cookies during the first phase of labor, but i know that i better have some sort of plan to keep my mind off of the part of labor that's fairly unproductive and happens before you get really serious or this whole natural labor thing is going to be eternal rather than just a marathon.  baking sounds like a good plan.  so does loading up the netflix queue with some seasons of something like 24.  nothing says "distraction" than some well-produced but fictional torture-for-the-greater-good.

on a somewhat related note, i'm pretty sure that's someone's job in the early phase of labor will be to get me some sweet potato fries and a burger. i have no idea why i think that's important, but i do.  right now.  maybe it will change.  supposedly i'm not supposed to eat anything other than clear liquids during the active phase of labor, but you better believe i'm eating a real meal before then.

also, i'm eating cookie dough. you know why? BECAUSE I'M TIRED OF BEING TOLD WHAT TO EAT AND NOT EAT.  and the kid won't be in utero long enough to suffer from any adverse effects from some possible salmonella that has never once bothered me.

but mainly because I'M TIRED OF BEING TOLD WHAT TO EAT.

it's good to have a plan.

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apparently i'm not large.

i feel large.  but apparently i'm not that big.

so that's good.

(you may read that in any way that you would like to read it. i don't like to force my will upon you. if you know me, you probably know how you can read that. if you've been pregnant, you probably know how you can read that.)

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the baby likes trumpets.  i have learned this not because musicboy plays the trumpet (although he can and he owns one) but because musicboy has a recital requirement and so i get to go to lots of random recitals wherein people play various instruments.

(tonight? clarinetapalooza. that's not the real name but that's what i call it.)

she likes trumpets.  she be-bops it around my belly when they play.  i think it would be awesome if she grew up to be a trumpet player, but she also likes frozen yogurt so maybe she'll grow up to work at TCBY.

whatever.

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two baby showers coming, on back-to-back saturdays.  i'm excited, but i don't know what to wear. i mean, i have some options, i suppose, but i have nothing except skirts for the springtime weather we're experiencing here, which is good for baby showers (don't want to look like a pregnant slug), but not so good for like the whole "i'm in the house all day" deal. i wear shorts that i bought at sam's club 150 years ago that look like sweat pants but aren't quite cut-offs.

i'm keepin' it classy over here.

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this is the conversation i just had with musicboy:

me: so, hypothetically, what would your opinion of me as a wife be if you had to eat frozen pizza tonight?
him: nothing.
me: so you don't have an opinion of me as a wife?
him: i would think you were a good wife.
me: because i don't cook for you? i'm a good wife?
him: you do realize that's not your sole responsibility, right?
me: it's not?
him: no, it's to be a support and a helpmeet.
me: and i'd be supporting and helpmeeting you by making you eat frozen pizza?
him: yes.
me: sweet.

i love my husband.  he so doesn't care.

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somebody commented on somebody else's pregnancy-related post about being hungry all the time (she's 18 weeks), and the first somebody told the pregnant somebody to live it up and eat whatever she wanted because it was the only time she'd have an excuse to eat more than her husband.

i wanted to shoot myself in the face.

so many things wrong with that. shall we play a game? you can point them out and i will just jump up and down, to the degree that i can, in joy that other people also see that such a comment is CRAZYTOWN.

also, why is pregnancy so fraught with weight-related issues? i sort of want to go back to the 80s when nobody cared how much weight you gained and nobody told you that you couldn't eat cookie dough.

dang. i'm back to cookie dough.

that, friends, is a circle.  and that, friends, means the end is growing near.

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week 33 is boring.  it's mainly just me hanging out, waiting for 36 weeks so that i can stop worrying about Baby Girl coming too soon and waiting for baby showers and waiting for the end of one of my online classes and feeling guilty about all the stuff i want to do but can't manage to find the energy or inclination to do consistently.

week 33 is boring, but i'm glad we're here.

i'll be gladder (shut up, it's a word) when week 34 or 35 or 36 is here.

the end now.