Thirty-five weeks (there I go again with that week thing) = five+ more to go. Life has *really* started to swirl around baby prep. What to buy, how to feel, thinking ahead one month, thinking ahead two months, thinking about managing poop that’s not mine, how to breathe, how big is 10cm, thinkingplanning, thinkingplanning, buying, painting, returning, researching, reading, watching, putting together… falling apart. It’s all just a lot to deal with.
But the thing is, I don’t *feel* any different.
Aside from being strikingly sober and despite the fact my body no longer belongs to me (it’s been taken over by something fumbly that lives where I used to put food and moves like a character from Nintendo’s Punch-Out), my mind still thinks about the same things it always did. It’s like my brain doesn’t know there’s a pregnancy somewhere down there. I’m still the same ol’ GGP, strategizing the next big adventure, agreeing to participate in anything that’s happening after August. In the future I see us as two + a faceless baby-shaped orb that’s hovering about. It’s similar to when you dream about people but none of them have real faces. I know the baby will be there, I just don’t know how that scene will actually play out yet.
And, thankthegoodLordabove, my sound mind still wills my inhabited body to do all the regular things, ala spin, bike, hike, stand up from sitting on the floor and shoe application. I even shaved my legs this morning. Celebrate good times, c’mon.
[Side Note: I did stop running about 3 three weeks ago. Zeke (Higham fetus extraordinaire) was super fine with the running – a.k.a. nap time – but Bladder de Pance was NOT cool with it anymore. Damn phantom pee.]
Speaking of “Pregnant? Who’s pregnant?” – last Friday the 2.5 of us even went kayaking. My third trimester could be worse. I do humbly realize there is still plenty of time for it to BE worse, but for now I’m counting my bulbous blessings.
*Use the GoGoPance Pictures link on the right to stalk forthcoming baby pix*