I’ve heard the last couple months feel like the last forever. And they do. They really really do. I feel like I’ve been saying “just a couple more months” for like 4 months now and I’m 33 weeks tomorrow. Not doing an official update this week because there isn’t much new to tell.
I am still big. I feel like I’m getting bigger by the day, but I can’t tell in photos. My belly line is getting darker and just like the old wives tale for a baby boy, is above my belly button. My belly button is still in, but stretched and angry looking due to my surgery scar that was once inside and has now migrated to the outside.
I am constantly getting kicked and poked. It feels like he’s trying to do some sort of internal exam. My belly pushes out like that scene in Alien. When I’m not getting kicked and poked, I obsess about whether he’s doing ok and only relax with the internal assault begins again.
I still fall asleep so easily it shocks me. I have suffered with insomnia my whole life. But ever since I got pregnant, I lie down and am almost immediately asleep. It’s heavenly. I hope it lasts.
My legs and feet swell off and on. Even my socks feel too tight. My fingers have swollen enough to make wearing my wedding rings tough, but I still jam at least the band on every morning because I refuse to go in public without it. I feel weird without it and being so visibly pregnant.
Two more weeks until my next ultrasound but I’m not as freaked out by the wait as I have been before because he’s just SO active and making his presence known so much that it seems like he’s already here and part of the family. I don’t worry about him as long as he is wiggling around in there.
That’s about it. Still pregnant, still hanging in there. Still working every day after the one person who worked for me got a new job and left by text message last Monday. After 4 years. But the shop is slow this time of year so I just locked the door, took my shoes off and stuck up a sign: