So I haven't posted for awhile because I've been out bungee jumping and mountain climbing. Ha ha.
Actually, last Friday I started this long rambling entry about leaving my career behind and how it is changing my sense of myself and whether that's for the better or not, considering the abruptness with which it all took place. It got long, convoluted and pretty pointless by the end, even though I tried to re-work it two or three times. The thing is, it can all be summed up in one sentence: I don't miss working & I don't think that makes me a bad person. Judge me if you must. Ahh, that was easy.
Now I have some random highlights from the past several days.
My "research" in life as a quasi-handicapped person continued on Saturday morning as Husband took over the role of wheel-chair pusher and, as anticipated, did exactly the same thing my mother did just days before as she wheeled me around Babies R Us. We went to a baby specialty store to peruse the over-priced crib options available to us. It was fine while we were in the furniture showroom, amidst a 100 little nursery set ups--everything was right there and easy to see, what with my spectacular periphery vision. It was when we went through the aisles of sheets and bottles and clothing that I noticed it. Husband pushed me two feet farther than anything I wanted to see. It truly is a phenomenon of perspective. Again, no fault of his; just the effect of not realizing that someone in a wheelchair is just a bit ahead of & below you.
Anyway, in spite of my having to crane my head to see anything of interest, we did indeed pick out a reasonably priced crib made of something other than cardboard and duct-tape (which is what you are basically getting unless you cough up the serious dough). And news of news, it was in stock and slated to be delivered a week from today!!! No waiting for months for our fancy Italian crib to cross the ocean and sit, rotting on a dock in customs! No sir; it was just sitting in their warehouse waiting to be picked.
The other joy of Saturday was that, sorry Mom, I snuck out to dinner with friends. I had no intention of doing so; I was actually pretty tired by mid-afternoon. But after lounging for several hours in bed, I felt refreshed enough to have Husband drop me at the door of a restaurant about a mile from our house, and while he went to park, my other pregnant friend and I schemed a way to get seated more quickly---
I went to the maitre d, rubbing my belly and asking how much longer for a table for 6. The man was made of stone, people. My gigantic pregnant belly and weary look did nothing to melt his stern and fair seating plan. Damn him. I haven't had a chance to get seats on subways or adoring little "ah, the circle of life" looks from strangers in the store--I wanted an opportunity to get some mileage out of this bump before it's gone! Alas, we waited for about 25 minutes on bar stools until they seated us at a table that, I swear, had the most uncomfortable chairs I have ever encountered in my life.
Is my ass so spoiled after fifteen weeks in my bed that it can't abide a regular restaurant chair? The answer to that question, my friends, is "yes". I now possess a very particular derrier.
Truth be told, I noticed it on my first foray back into the caffeine mecca that is my local Starbucks. What once was the joy of sipping coffee, filling in the crossword puzzle and lazy people-watching became an aching guanlet of "ouch, my butt!" and "ooooh, that hurts" as I shifted in the cold, unforgiving wooden seats I had never so much as noticed before. And it's not because of the baby or because I should get back into bed and need my rest, yadda, yadda, yadda. It's because I now have a snobby, prima donna butt....
I can see myself now--a la Joan Crawford, "I said NO WOODEN CHAIRS!!!!!"....really, though. They are evil and uncomfortable. Think about it the next time you sit down in one. Wouldn't you rather be on a cushion?
Cranky, sore butt aside, dinner out was lovely and well worth it. To sit among people in a normal setting and have a regular old conversation about something besides my cervix was just fantastic. It's so nice to know I'm capable of being social still. I have had nightmares during the past 15 weeks about turning into wacky recluse woman who speaks in broken sentences and points at things as a primary form of communication.
On Sunday, Husband ripped the built in bookshelves out of our guest room to make room for baby's bureau/changing table. I swear, the people who lived here before us had a love affair with built-ins the likes of which this world has never seen before. They are in the basement, they were in the livingroom, they were in our bedroom AND they were in the guest room/nursery. Gladly now, with Husband's handiwork, they are only in the basement at this point.
Not that I can't appreciate a good built-in bookshelf--I dream of a living room that looks like a library (even one of those groovy ladders would be cool). But these were, let's say, one step below Trading Spaces built-ins; thrown together in 24 hours and installed by morons.
My staff of personal shoppers, chefs, chauffeurs, house keepers and contractors have also been busy this week. They prefer I just call them "Mom" & "Dad". Thanks to them, tonight's dinner is already made, the grocery shopping is done, the laundry is clean, and the nursery is painted the most precious green and light yellow. Tomorrow they will be driving me all around town (okay, to Target and Babies R Us), so I can take care of some last minute purchasing. I say last minute because even though I am only 34w, the doctors have told me that anytime after 35w is a possibility.
That about catches us up; athough I am haunted by a dream I had on Sunday night. There's not a lot of sleeping going on here, as Husband & I seem to be locked in an unconscious battle of wills with the snoring. While he snores, I am awake, grimacing and sighing. Apparently at some point, I manage to fall asleep, commence with the crazy pregnant lady snoring and wake him up...it's funny to laugh about in the morning, but it makes for a pretty miserable night.
But anyway, I dreamt that I fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans only days after giving birth. Sigh. What are the chances? It is occurring to me that I will only be pregnant for another blink of the eye and then all eyes, when they aren't staring adoringly at my child, will be focused on how fast I can get my body back into a shape that looks anything other than "marshmallow-y"....ugh. I hope breastfeeding is the diet plan it promises to be....