Tomorrow my first born Brady turns 9, and in typical mom form, I’m over here looking through his damn baby pictures like a blubbering fool and reminiscing on all the Birthdays that have gone by. During my travels I also stumbled upon the old blog I started when I was pregnant with Brady and amidst all the sweet, sappy memories I uncovered, I also found this gem from week 36 of my pregnancy that made me giggle. I’ll write something meaningful for his Birthday tomorrow, but in the meantime, let’s travel back to September 3rd, 2009.
I’m a Happy Camper
Week 36. I’m huge. I wear everything I eat; at any given time I have at least 3 food or drink stains on my belly. Everything just seems to land conveniently on my stomach or in my cleavage, and I’m a slob to begin with so this belly is merely accentuating my piggish ways.
Brady is cramped tightly inside my uterus but he still finds a way to constantly move around in there, causing my stomach to take on a life of its own. He practically wedges himself into my sternum when I’m slouching which I’m assuming is his way of telling me to improve my posture and also make some more goddamn room for him. He gets the hiccups constantly, which was cute at first but now it’s averaging about 3 times a day.
So I had my OB appointment this morning and there is nothing new to report except that my car is a piece of shit and there is nowhere to park at the hospital. lol. The 95 mercury “mistake” was puttering all the way to the hospital, revving, stalling and stinking like exhaust fumes as per usual. It never fails to put me in a bad mood just from the mere act or thought of driving it . At the hospital I attempted to park in the visitor lot but after circling it 3 times and finding not one empty space, I got pissy and drove right back out of the lot and straight to my mom’s house. Seriously, why the hell does the stupid machine give you a ticket and let you in the lot if the damn parking lot is full?
Anyways, I showed up at my mom’s house about ready to burst into tears of frustration. “I need you to drive me to the hospital!” I blurted out when she opened the door, which I’m sure is a comforting opening line for any mother to hear. She immediately disconnected the phone with whomever she was talking to, likely assuming I was going into labour or dying.
I quickly reassured her that I was just being hormonal and not bleeding from the eyes or in need of an ambulance. “I’m late for my appointment, my car is a piece of shit that’s dying and there’s nowhere to park at the hospital. Can you drop me off?”
She quickly obliged.
Other than having my va-jay-jay swabbed to be tested for Strep B, the appointment went fine and all is well in pregnancy land. I should be happy that thus far the baby is healthy and that I haven’t had any major complications like gestational diabetes or anything out of the ordinary. All I can ask for is a healthy baby and a delivery that doesn’t kill me. *crossing fingers*
I realize that my blogs are becoming angrier as the pregnancy progresses but that’s just because writing provides a convenient outlet for me to bitch and complain, plus it makes for a more interesting read. Happy stuff gets boring and redundant, but I’ll throw some positivity in here next time just to switch it up.
Until then, fuck everything! 🙂