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So I’m feeling slightly better about the whole Godzilla Baby/enormous amount of amniotic fluid. Like my mom said, who cares if L is a little bigger than she is supposed to be? Really, I don’t care how big my baby is as long as she’s okay and I’m okay. I mostly am just sick of having things to worry about. But, I guess that is what pregnancy is all about. How can I not worry? There’s a life growing inside of me, one for which I am solely responsible, and will continue to be after she is born. That my friends equals worry. And love. And excitement. I’m getting very excited. I’m still not going to continue with the weekly emailed measurements and fruit comparisons because they’re stupid and arbitrary, especially considering that my baby has already surpassed them. But there are other fun things to talk about. We had another shower last weekend and got some more cool gifts. Including the very first set of cloth diapers! I think I’m overly excited about the cloth diapers, but they’re so cute nowadays! Not like when my mom was using them on me and they were just ugly white and covered with those hideous plastic pants. There’s a few different kinds and brands that I want to try and very soon I will be placing a couple of orders for more. So be prepared to hear allll about them, and to be possibly inundated with pictures.  Anyway, back to the shower. It was fun, if not a little awkward. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law threw it for me at the MIL’s house. It was mostly for her friends so it was a bunch of people I didn’t know, and who were a lot older than me. Plus, I despise being the center of attention. But, at least it wasn’t a ladies-exclusive shower so Jason got to stay and hang out with me, so it did end up being fun. Then, after everyone left we played in the pool. On the one hand, HORROR because I had to shop for and wear a bathing suit on my giant whale ass (while I was in the dressing room struggling into my highly attractive maternity suit I overheard a conversation between 2 young women, one of whom was complaining about how fat she was – had I a pie it would have been in her face) on the other hand DELIGHT because when your body is this big and has another body inside of it the feeling of being weightless in cool water is like being in heaven. When we got home we discovered that the pool at our apartment complex is finally open (c’mon people, it’s Vegas, the weather has been hot enough for the pool since April) so I plan to swim quite frequently. In fact, as soon as they open up I’m heading over there.

As I mentioned before I’m not going to concentrate on the measurements and/or how big the baby is. I think instead I’m going to move on to the HOLY SHIT ONLY (___) MORE WEEKS TO GO because that’s pretty much how I feel. If I go to my due date there are only 10 weeks left. TEN WEEKS! That’s like the blink of an eye! And, I might not go to my due date (she said hopefully, even though she suspects she will be that woman who is 2 weeks past due and doing any number of ridiculous old-wives-talesy things to try to induce labor), which means the baby could be here in as few as 8 weeks. OHMYGOD I still have so much to do. I sorted through the giant piles of clothes that we’ve received and separated them out by age, but I still have to find a place to put them all. Not to mention get a place for the baby to sleep. And a place to change diapers. And clean the rest of this dump so that it’s baby friendly. Maybe it’ll be better if I go 2 weeks past my due date.

Did I mention I’m not sleeping? Like, very well at all? Aside from all of the peeing (who designed this system whereby the ever-growing baby sits (stands on, smashes, kicks) your bladder constantly?) there’s the mind racing and the constant worrying and the back pain and the breathlessness – sleep is a thing of the past. And the dreams – they range from the idiotic (last night I was hanging out with Ellen DeGeneres who was smoking a fat blunt, she offered, I took a giant hit and then, ONLY THEN, did I remember I was pregnant and that I had just gotten my fetus high) to the horrible (maybe the gruesome, murderous images are my fault because I’ve been watching old episodes of CSI?) – I’ll spare you the details of those, to dreams of the I’m-going-to-be-a-horrible-parent persuasion (again with the breastfeeding of kitties instead of the baby, forgetting to go to the hospital when I’m in labor, not having any of the baby’s stuff ready – the list goes on). I think I’m ready for all of this to be over, and for the baby to be a regular part of our lives. 9 months is a long time. Can you imagine being an elephant? They gestate for like, 2 years. Shudder.

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