My mental health status is flying wildly from one end of the spectrum to the other. When I woke up this morning, I thought I was going to die if I had to spend the rest of the day pregnant. I'm trying to rope my desperation in, but it's not working so well.
Then I'll have other moments when I'm ok with the fact that clearly, I'm never going to give birth. This kid is going to live in my belly until it kills me.
At the doctor's appointment earlier this week, I had yet another doctor/midwife person feeling around and say, "Wow. This is a really big baby. At least 8 pounds right now." AND IT'S ONLY GETTING BIGGER!
Sorry. Breathing. Breathing.
At the gym every morning, I try to be the embodiment of calm, pleasant pregnancy. But I also see every set of eyes warily watching me. Just waiting, I assume, for me to drop this kid right then and there. So, I huff and puff through my hour, and waddle back to the car, and try to avoid conversations with most people.
I'm running out of projects, and I've already burned two weeks of maternity leave. Not good. I'm going to go eat some fried chicken and mope on the couch. And if one more person leaves the following voicemail on my phone, I might just scream: "Hi Coley. Just calling to see how you're doing. But since you didn't answer this...maybe you're having the baby!"
Because, no. I am not having the baby. What I am having is huge amounts of trouble getting up from wherever I am in the time it takes to miss the phone call completely. I'm feeling like hermitting up for a few days. I'll be back next week.
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