Getting close, getting big, and doing more lunges

Thirty-two weeeeeeks.

I now have as many weeks left of this pregnancy as I was unaware of in the beginning. Eight weeks.

Of course, that's debatable because we all know baby can show up whenever he darn well pleases. And those of you enjoying the thought of a Halloween baby, PLEASE NOTE that is a whole week beyond his October 23 due date, so shhhhh.

SHHHHHHHH.

I would like him to cook as long as possible, truly, but I'd like to turn off the oven on October 23. This shit is overheating. 

LITERALLY. 

I am always hot. Always, always, forever sweating. Honestly, I've kind of always been too warm all of the time, but this is the pregnancy upgrade. You'd think Todd and I had different climates within our one, singular bed. He's asleep in flannel pants and a hoodie (I maintain he is just a wee bit delicate, bless him and his chilly little body climate), and I wake up thrashing the covers off and clawing at my face when I'm only in a (now-too-snug) tank top and shorts (that are reaching their limit). Arms are sprawled, legs are sprawled, everything is uncomfortable. 

Sleep is officially fleeting, which I suppose is just a nice preparation for the reality that will hit once baby is here. 

My preggo carpal tunnel is officially out of control. Even as I type this my fingertips are going numb. My wrist braces aren't really doing much at night and I wake up with sore knuckle joints. My wedding ring is officially out of commission (sigh). But what's weird is neither my hands nor feet look swollen. In fact, my feet never even bother me. But with how my hands feel and how impossible it is to get my wedding ring on, I'd expect them to look like sausages.

They are not sausages, which I do appreciate. 

Though I'm starting to get a little more body self-conscious. What once felt cute and bump-y, now feels large and... large. The bump is growing. Obviously it has to, but it still causes me to do a double- and triple-take in the mirror each time. It has become an arm rest when I'm sitting in meetings. I feel less "aw, adorably pregnant" and more just plain pregnant. 

I find I'm watching the rest of my body like a hawk. I'm starting to feel self-conscious about my thighs, which are a part of legs I've always been proud of. I mean, hell, as a runner, my legs are my one and only pride point on this entire body. IT IS ALL I HAVE, DO NOT TAKE THIS FROM ME. 

I realize this is all incredibly ridiculous and vain, but I'm just being honest, world. I've not been shy about the fears I have for my body throughout this adventure. I've been critical of my body my entire life and it sure hasn't changed throughout pregnancy. Unfortunately.

I'm starting to feel... big. That's a struggle.

That said, with just 8 weeks to go, I'm becoming a little more confident that my body can get through the rest of this mostly unscathed, it's just getting harder to watch the little bits and pieces of my previous body contort into something different. 

I better get my legs back, though, goddammit. Hear me now.

Mornings have become the hardest part of the day. Waking up is rough, likely because of the poor night of sleep. Getting out of bed is painful with numb hands and new pelvic pains and occasional round ligament pains making a comeback. Going to bed has honestly become a necessary evil that I know I won't enjoy, but I know I need to at least try, which is a shame BECAUSE I LOVE SLEEPING. I typically look forward to bedtime as soon as I wake up. 

Now bedtime comes and I'm like HANG ON, LET ME SLATHER SOME COCOA BUTTER ON MY SWOLLEN BELLY, ATTACH MY WRIST APPARATUSES, TAKE ELEVENTY VITAMINS, INSERT EAR PLUGS, AND PREPARE MYSELF WITH DEEP BREATHING TO LOWER MY BODY TO THE PILLOW.

It's delightful. 

By the time I get into bed, there's no turning back, so I better not have to pee and the house better not burn down or I'm going down in flames. 

It also better not burn down because we have an amazing nursery coming together in the bedroom next to ours. We celebrated my baby shower over the weekend, and my dad and Todd put together the crib and a bookshelf, which are now both full of baby books and bedding and things and stuff, and oh my god it's the best. 

IT IS A REAL ROOM WITH REAL THINGS FOR THE REAL BABY THAT IS COMING.

[screaming uncontrollably]

And my baby shower was perfect and beautiful and delicious and everything I never expected for my baby shower because I find baby showers sort of loathsome and terrifying. Also, this is sort of a given and incredibly biased because I choose my friends and the people with whom I surround myself, but my god, I have the best friends. I am never not blown away by the people in my life. 

ALSO also, the husband of my dearest best party planner made a watermelon fruit platter baby complete with a banana penis, so what else do we really need? 

Nothing, you guys. Nothing.

Other than banana penises, another thing that crept up on me in the last couple weeks is the realization that an entirely new life is on the way. On the way very soon. 

As Todd and I relaxed together Sunday night (mentally preparing ourselves for the Game of Thrones finale, let's be real) (or maybe that was just me) (Jon Snow and Daenerys, though), it hit me that these quiet, together moments of just husband and wife are numbered. Yes, kids go to sleep and kids get older and hang out away from home and kids grow up, but these moments and this life of he and I as an adventure squad duo are going to dwindle. 

I think part of me is legit mourning that a little bit. Yes, of course I'm excited for a baby and our new adventure as a new family, but I really enjoy our life together. The occasional peace and quiet. The lying around in bed for an hour before actually getting out of it on a Saturday morning. Hanging out in the coffee shop together on Sundays. Being husband and wife, apart from mom and dad. I love him. And I love us.

I'm nervous. Not in a doom-and-gloom kind of way. Just in a change-is-coming kind of way. We're a good team and we'll continue to be a good team, I simply hope we don't get so lost in a newborn forest that we forget us. Or coffee.

I don't assume we will, it's just a fear. 

Sort of like the way I fear I'll never get my good thighs back, you know? Like, I totally will, but it'll take some extra work and lunges and shit. Effort and such.

I should totally be a counselor. 

Patient: "Krista, we're worried our marriage is falling apart. What can we do?"

Me: "Um, did you try lunges?"

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