30 weeks, 30 pounds, 30 new dreams in life (mostly pets)

I have been pregnant for 30 weeks. Thirty entire weeks. By the time this pregnancy ends, I will have spent -- almost quite literally -- my entire 35th year pregnant. 


A lot has been going on in the last week or so. Did we talk about the wrist braces? Because I sleep in those now to help with the carpal tunnel. Only the carpal tunnel has progressed, and I now often find myself with numb hands when doing inane things like holding the steering wheel or holding a book. Todd likes to tell me it looks like I'm about to go rollerblading as I crawl into bed. 

And crawl, I do. Because the act of lying down and getting up are both entirely too time-consuming and complex. 

Sometimes I'll lie there, and if I'm not moving and baby's not moving, it almost feels like I'm not pregnant. For the briefest of moments, I can visualize what it must be like to have 30 less pounds of fluid and baby weighing me down. AND THEN I try to roll over.

I'm trapped in the Snoogle, my core isn't strong enough to rotate or sit up or do much of anything, if I engage my legs too much I arrive frighteningly close to the beginning of a leg cramp, and I can't bend my wrists because WRIST BRACES. The cat is usually asleep on the pillow, Todd is asleep next to me with all the covers, and I'm usually sweating profusely because MY BODY IS A SWAMP FURNACE. It is then that I realize I've only been in bed for 12 minutes. 

Repeat every hour until my alarm goes off and I shut it down and oversleep by 45 minutes. Every day.


And so, pregnancy. We continue the journey. 

Not much has shifted in terms of symptoms other than my heartburn has completely vanished thanks to the lord of prescription medicine. I'm exhausted, a lot, which is coming back with a vengeance. It's getting harder to find the will to exercise, but I'm still getting it done from time to time. 

I'm full, often and quickly. As I learned in childbirth class last week, my stomach will eventually shrink to about a third of its size by the end, which means there is significantly less room for food. This is probably a good thing, as at present, I am still wanting to just stuff it with cake.

My pre-pregnancy jeans still technically fit, albeit they certainly don't button and they're a touch more snug than they were 30 weeks ago, naturally, when I was at my lowest weight since I began caring about weight.


But that discovery was pleasant. 

I'll find out officially at my appointment tomorrow, but I'm definitely creeping quite close to a total weight gain of 30 pounds so far. Baby, himself, is now more than three of that, but woo boy, shit's getting real. And heavy.

I've had to mostly give up going to work in any shoes that are the least bit stylish because walking four blocks to and from the office each day with 30 extra pounds on my body and no support for my arches is rough.

Baby's movements have gotten aggressive. He's located my ribs and he's not shy about reminding me of that. Todd can now see the movements in my belly from across the room. I'm told the baby will start repositioning himself from feet first to head first soon, and I'm simply wondering when he'll stop doing somersaults. 

My parents bought his crib this week, and we're awaiting the delivery of a new rug and rocking chair for the nursery. Officially, after much manual labor and love, this kid's room is going to be the best in the house. We can never move. It is known.

I've gotta say, I've done all of the physical labor of building this child of ours, but Todd has made magic happen in that once awful bedroom. I can't wait until it's finished. Both my baby job and his baby job. WE DID A GOOD JOB OF THINGS.

Baby still needs a dresser, though, and our hunt rages on after a failed rummage sale attempt this weekend. Second-hand shopping is cutthroat. 

Still no sign of stretch marks (knock on wood) or varicose veins. I've yet to see the linea nigra I've heard about and my belly button is still in, albeit quite flattened. With the heartburn gone and no other bodily functions currently disrupted, I'm feeling alright. 

I must savor these times.

I did, however, find a suspicious new mole on my thigh the other night. Dark, slightly raised, with partially disrupted edges. With my mom having had a cancerous mole scare last summer, that shit immediately brought panic mode. I AM ABOUT TO HAVE A BABY. THIS CANNOT HAPPEN.

I put it out of my mind and went to bed. 

The next morning I inspected it more closely. Still there. Still the same. Still scary. Until I scratched at it lightly and it... came right off. 


This sums up my entire life, basically.

Poor Todd.

This morning while we were getting ready for the day, I jokingly asked, "Remember the time I thought I had cancer, but it was chocolate cupcake?"

We laughed and laughed. 

Then he followed it up with, "Remember the time you thought you just had an irregular period and then we had a baby?"

This is our life. It is a good life.

Speaking of life, I recently discovered my impossible desire to stay home and raise this baby when he's born. It's impossible because we simply cannot afford it, no way, no how. But also because I never in one-thousand lifetimes assumed it's something I'd ever, ever want. 

Having a career is great and fulfilling. I enjoy what I do. I love having that purpose each day and working with a team to make things happen. I've been steadfast in my desire to never give that up, and to carry on as a full-time working mother, if the time ever came.

But this itch kept scratching at the back of my mind. The idea of handing him off to daycare less than two months after he's born. Missing his daily milestones. Missing him, period. Not being there, as a first-time mother, to learn about him and learn about me and be a mother for perhaps this only time. 

I am 35, and a career is something I've been able to have for nearly 15 years. Sure, I'm not done. I have plenty of years left in me, obviously. But how often will I get to have this time to embrace motherhood in an all-encompassing way? I don't want to work from home. I just want to be home. I want to mom to the max. 

So it's sort of this mourning process I'm going through preemptively. Mourning what I cannot have, even though I never knew I wanted it. Wishing circumstances were different and affordable and easier. 

But the grass is always greener, right? I know we'll work out what works best for us, and our family will thrive in whatever way we let it. 

But damn, if I didn't desperately wish the next season of my life could simply be mom and wife (did I just regress 40 years?). That said, I also want a house in the mountains and four dogs and nine kittens, so do with your dreams what you will. But dreams are still dreams. 

So until we can live in the mountains with a domestic animal farm and a newborn who pays the bills, I'm gonna keep on keeping on, growing a baby and such. Ten more weeks to go! Or more. Or less. 

We'll be hiding in the Snoogle, bye.