The day has not gone well thus far. After sending an email to a dear friend, complimenting her on her wonderful ability to roll with whatever unexpected changes to her plans arise... I am having to deal with unexpected changes.
Today was the day I was supposed to do everything in preparation for Thanksgiving, starting with an oil change. The oil change took a good two hours, during which time I walked around with K and kept her entertained. Luckily (for my sanity and peace of mind) she's fairly easy to entertain. Unluckily (for my back and hips) she's fairly active. Our car was finally ready and we started home for a little-bit-later-than-usual lunch. She fell asleep in the car right about the time I noticed that the check engine light (as well as two other scary-looking lights) were lit up on the dash. ARGH.
Back at the dealership (we have lifetime free oil changes otherwise there's no way I'd get it done there) I explained the light problem with a heavy (still asleep!) toddler on my shoulder and expected it to take only a few minutes because they just forgot to reset them, right? Wrong. It took at least half an hour. Apparently the lights coming on were in no way related to the oil change and the car needs work done. Something about a new catalytic converter. We're covered under warranty until 80,000 miles which is fortunate because we're currently at 72K. We've only had the car three years! Fortunately it's not a problem that will prevent us from driving 500 miles tomorrow which is good because our only other vehicle likes to burn and/or leak large quantities of oil.
So. Now K is down for a late nap and I sat down to gripe about something else entirely.
Last week at Panera a lady asked me how far along I was. 30 weeks. "Wow, you're so tiny!" was her kind reply. Would people still say that if they knew how much weight I've gained? And that I still have two more months to go?!? Over the past couple of weeks I've been feeling very similarly to how I felt at full term with K. I brushed it off as ridiculous because I obviously couldn't be that big yet - I still have two more months! Then I weighed myself. I'm five pounds shy of what I gained with K. My body is not lying to me. I really am this big. It's not that I mind the actual pounds gained - I know it'll all come right off again, leaving saggy skin and stretch marks behind - I just mind having to CARRY said extra weight. My legs and back are in a constant state of complaint and it's all I can do to keep from being in a constant state of complaint myself.
I'm at the point with K where I'm working on first time obedience. (We still have a long way to go. Her attention span leaves much to be desired.) I want her to understand that when I say something (and she hears it) I expect her to respond. I am not going to play the counting game, or teach her that I'm only *really* serious after raising my voice or threatening. This means that if I tell her not to touch something from across the room and she does not obey, I need to get up right away and go over to her to enforce what I just said. This scenario happens frequently and it would be SOOOO much easier to holler at her from the couch and wait to intervene until she's *really* in trouble... but I've already seen the results of being consistent and it gives me hope. She is learning that I mean business and that if she chooses not to listen to me then I will make her comply right then. She's choosing to listen much more often! But this takes its toll on my back and legs.
Usually by the end of the day I'm physically exhausted yet my mind is still urging me to get things done as if I didn't weigh 23% more than I did before I was pregnant. By now it's probably 25%. One day I found myself wishing for one of those empathy bellies that men can wear to supposedly discover (in a very very very very very small way) what it's like to be pregnant. If only Superman could live a day (okay, week) in my shoes! I decided to do the next best thing - calculate how much additional weight he'd have to carry around if his body gained like mine while pregnant. This pregnancy has added 23% more weight (so far) to my pre-pregnant body. If Superman were to gain weight in the same way he'd have to put 50 pounds of bowling ball in front (since that's pretty much were I'm carrying it all.)
I find all this hugely validating. It's no WONDER I'm slow and uncomfortable. 25% extra weight! That's a lot! Being pregnant is hard! I'm gaining more than most women because I started out underweight (which is normal for me) and I want my baby to be a healthy weight, but still! I've gained almost forty pounds, still have two more months (during which the baby starts to pack on pounds) AND there are two food-laden holidays between now and my due date. THAT is what I wanted to gripe about. Gripe! Gripe gripe gripe!
And yet despite all this I'm so glad that by all accounts we're expected to have a healthy little girl. It's worth it. It's worth all this miserableness and so much more. I so look forward to seeing her face and hearing her voice. To nursing and rocking and finding out what kind of person she is. To seeing her big sister and daddy fall even more deeply in love with her and to calling her my very own. But I would appreciate it if she'd arrive earlier than later... are you listening, little baby????