Waiting

Being pregnant means never having to say you’re sorry. So I’m not. I’m not sorry that I haven’t posted once in my third trimester. I’m not sorry that I have drafts I never published in my third trimester. I’m not sorry that I just wasn’t in the mood to write in my third trimester. So there. Why haven’t I written? I’m not sure. I’ve had thoughts. Lots of thoughts. I probably will look back and wish I had written. They say that the mind will forget what the body goes through during pregnancy. Perhaps I was sparing myself the documentation. I also pushed myself (I know, I know, you’re sooooo surprised) due to work events that were out of my control (and in a few cases, just out of control) and so since about mid-April on, I’ve been beyond busy and physically destroyed. The Braxton-Hicks started shortly after a week of 15-hour days (don’t ask, just don’t say the word “Bollywood” around me). That was week 32. That was 6 weeks ago. Last Wednesday, they became the “real-deal” in terms of intensity and discomfort. And 6 days later – they’re about the same. It sucks. It also comes with horrifying hormones that I can’t control.  This is hard for me. Mr. Forty would tell you that for a pregnant lady, I’ve been fairly level. My default is a bit feisty (everyone who knows me is now rolling their eyes and saying, “A bit feisty?!?!” And those people can fuck off), but all things being equal, I’ve been pretty good.  My instinct is to laugh at damn near everything (inability to bend over and pick something up, inability to get out the car, inability to form words that makes sense, inability to fit into any clothing, inability to fit into any shoes, inability to walk for more than a few feet without needing a sit-down for myself, inability to recognize my own reflection, etc.). Lately, as in the past week, the hormones have gone in the other direction. After a bout of really bad contractions (but never so many that we can say “Go Time!”) I couldn’t stop crying. I just wasn’t quite ready to leave the amazing twosome that Mr. Forty and I have made. I think there’s another post in me about just how amazing this man is and how very much in awe of him I am several times a day. I regret so very little in life, but there is a part of me that does wish he and I could have had just a bit more time together before we made the biologically responsible choice to start a family while we could still pick the kid up. Point? The crying jags suck balls. I hate hormones. BUT… I’m going to miss stuffing my face.  I hear that breastfeeding allows you  a calorie free-for-all and I certainly hope so. I don’t know what magic has occurred in my third trimester, but no matter how much I shovel into my face hole, I show up to my doctor’s appt. only putting on my allowed “one pound per week.” It’s fucking delightful and I don’t care if that’s a humble brag or not. I’m going to take the small pieces of grace I have gotten. I think the weirdest thing is that I stopped driving.  Completely. Haven’t been behind the wheel of a car in over three weeks. Because I’m only 5′ and I have legs the length of a...

Where We Are

We are on the couch, eating pho, and watching March Madness. Ms. Forty: *brrraaaaaaaap* Oh god, I’m disgusting. Mr. Forty: It’s feeding time for Jabba. Yeah, I gotta say, that’s exactly what it’s like. Jesus I don’t even know me anymore. And just like that, while typing this, I just unexpectedly sneezed and snotted myself. I’m fucking Slimer.

The breaking point

Critter is now big enough and strong enough to “shape” my belly when he moves about. Mr. Forty just watched Critter’s foot traverse my belly. You would have thought he was watching the unrated version of Saw. We have found his squeamish sensor. It’s baby foot. Pure, unedited baby foot. *snicker*

Pint half full

I may be generously stealing from Mr. Forty’s delicious beer at the Gasparilla Music Festival. Judge away. But I think I just saved us the financial burden of an Ivy League education. Win?

The Important Stuff

One of my best friends just texted me: How’s that invite list coming? She means for the shower she is throwing for me.  Which is amazing and I am so blessed and I feel actually a little awkward about it, because I’m actually really crap about being the center of attention (people find that hard to believe since I’ve been an actor for so long – but that’s a role – stuff like this is me). My response: Ha! Between a huge press conference with the Governor and my show opening on Friday? It’s not. Don’t worry – we haven’t even fucking registered – or gotten boxes out of the nursery, or bought properly fitting underwear to accommodate my rapidly growing ass. I haven’t eaten a meal that hasn’t come out of a wrapper in four days… And I realize – my life is insane. I’ve written about fearing this time several posts ago. I knew that my life was gonna suck for the month of February and the beginning of March. I knew it. But I keep my word and I honor my obligations and so I taught my MBA course, I directed a professional theatrical production, and at work I organized and staged a press conference that will take place in about two hours. Saturday will mark the beginning of the end of the my 100 hour work weeks. The last 8 weeks would have been damn near impossible under normal circumstances, but have been truly overwhelming for me.  That said, looking back – I wouldn’t say I dropped a single ball, made any epic mistakes, or used Critter as an excuse for anything. I got shit done. Except for the guest list to my shower. Nobody’s...