General Pregnancy Update: 35 Weeks

I'm 35 years pregnant (one pregnancy week is the equivalent of one human year), so we are truly in the home stretch. Everything feels very, very real. I've been so focused on finishing our house renovation project, getting everything set up for the baby, and steeling myself for the birth that I've had little time to blog, take pictures, or socialize with other humans.

I wish I had done a better job logging this pregnancy. I really wanted this to be a start-to-finish account of everything. I'm sure it would be interesting for me to track my shifting emotions across the life of this pregnancy, or to see how I feel about pregnancy after its over as opposed to when it was happening. Alas, I am only human, and I already spend eight hours a day writing. It's hard to feel motivated to do even more on top of that. Especially when your hand is numb (one of the many, many common pregnancy side effects that precisely no one warned me about).

Folks have been asking for an update, and Jeff is preparing for a trial, so I thought I'd give a largely random overview of the pregnancy, the birth, and life these days. Enjoy the boring horror that is the wait for a child to arrive.

First Things First: I Fucking Hate Being Pregnant 
Maybe it's because I spent my college years caring for other people's children, because I really, really love kids, or because I think pregnancy is fascinating. Maybe it's that nurse-in I rained down upon my arch-nemesis in Forest Park. I don't know. For some reason, though, I thought I would be one of those Earth-Mother-Goddess people who loved being pregnant.

You guys. I fucking hate being pregnant. It's like having the flu while carrying around a bag of bricks and lighting your throat on fire. While suffering a bladder infection. As you anticipate the scariest moment of your life. And occasionally throw up. With hemorrhoids. Maybe by the end of this pregnancy I will actually vomit up hemorrhoids.

Pregnancy sucks. Sometimes I think maybe the reason women are able to endure child labor is that they are happy to be ripped in half by a giant, bloody parasite, if only it means that the pregnancy nightmare will end. Seriously. Pushing a watermelon out of my body? Excruciating pain? Shooting people with breastmilk? Perineal tearing? Not scary at all compared to the horror that is pregnancy.

But Also, People Are Good and Nice and Wonderful 
Even though pregnancy sucks, the people in my life most assuredly do not. You should see how many beautiful things people got us for our baby shower, and the incredible outpouring of love we got in our guest book and cards. My best friend flew across the country to be there for our shower. Her little sister gave up days of her life to help decorate. My sister-in-law tore her house (and possibly her life) apart planning for it.

One of my dad's best friends offered to make me two weeks worth of meals. Jeff's favorite client said she'd watch the baby any time, with no notice at all. One of my neighbors has taken to bringing me near-daily deliveries of practical necessities (and today's delivery included a box of condoms "to prevent this horror from ever again befalling you!"). My in-laws are watching our devil dog when I go into labor. Even my six-year-old sister has started doing favors for me because, according to her, if I walk too much it will "smush the baby."

This blog has highlighted the miseries of pregnancy, and the horrible sexism to which pregnant women are exposed. It hasn't done enough to point out how many people bend over backwards to help pregnant women. I'm an ungrateful monster.

I Love the Smell of Gasoline in the Morning and Ammonia in the Afternoon
You probably know that pregnant women tend to get food cravings, but I'm special. I get smell cravings. And not normal ones. I love anything that smells strongly of chemicals. Ammonia. Gasoline. Lighter fluid. The more toxic, the better. It's torture, since I can't sit around sniffing these delectable fragrances. In my happiest moments, I meditate on the fragrance of oil-based paint. My Hypnobabies CD tells me I need to devise a happy place for myself in anticipation of the birth. My current happy place is in a can of paint, at the bottom of a tub of gasoline.

Baby Zeff is Killing it at Being a Developing Human 
I may suck at being pregnant and weigh approximately 887 pounds, but baby Zeff is crushing it at this human development thing. Our little one is healthy, has faced no complications, and continues wiggling around in there like a champ. Zeff recently discovered their hellbones (formerly known as elbows), and now expresses love for me by repeatedly jabbing me with them.

When it was time for me to be born, I stuck my hand above my head, sat cross-legged, and remained in the wrong position, waiting patiently to be born as a breach, cross-legged baby. I'm happy to report that this baby seems to have gotten their intelligence from Jeff, as Zeff is already in the ideal position to be birthed. That is, of course, if we can reasonably call pushing a 10-inch head out of a one-inch hole "ideal."

Sometimes Zeff tries to escape through my bladder, repeatedly head-butting this pathetic, now nearly nonexistent organ. That's one of the many ways we bond.

I am Terrified of Maternity Leave 
I have never taken more than two weeks off of work. So preparing for a maternity leave that will be anywhere from 6-12 weeks is terrifying. I like my job, and I like having a sense of purpose. It's hard to think about leaving, and even harder to consider that my maternity leave may cost me some clients. What if they like my substitutes better? What if they forget about me? What if they were all just waiting for me to go on maternity leave so they could replace me with someone better? Insecurity has reared its ugly head.

And of course, with insecurity comes a desperate need to prove my own adequacy. So I'm working overtime to supply pretty much every client I have with content that will last them for at least a few weeks into my maternity leave. My right hand is numb and I have to cover myself in Doterra Blue Oil to maintain this frenetic working pace. That's ok, because Doterra Blue Oil smells like chemicals, and I love the smell of chemicals.

In short: maternity leave is scary, but I think it will be good for me to learn to let go and not derive so much of my identity from work.

Pregnancy Changes Relationships
Everyone told me I'd be surprised by how pregnancy changed my relationships. That's probably the most helpful and accurate advice I've gotten.

Everyone who's spent five minutes with Jeff and me knows that we have the sort of fairytale love that makes people want to vomit. I am obsessed with my husband, and pregnancy has brought us closer together. Sometimes I think about him and I start crying because I'm so happy to have him in my life. It's sickening, really. I love him so much I might throw up on him.

My friendships have changed, too. I've developed a number of new friendships with people who seem genuinely interested in supporting me through my pregnancy. Some of the friends with whom I was previously close have no interest at all, and have basically ditched me.

My clients' reactions have been equally interesting. For instance, I blog for a large psychiatry practice, and have never spoken to any of the psychiatrists who run it. Once they learned I was pregnant, they started calling me to check on me, and have now demanded access to my registry. Another client fired me outright as soon as they learned I was pregnant, and a couple seem totally in denial that I will soon be going on maternity leave. Pregnancy really activates something in people.

The Sexism Continues (Shocking!) 
People keep saying and doing sexist things to me. Did you know that I don't understand my own experience of being pregnant? Or that I'm a bitch for not letting people grab my stomach? Or that gaining any weight at all during pregnancy means you've given up on your body and become "fat"? It's a nonstop delight. I'm so glad I have asshole men and condescending never-pregnant women all around me to explain what I should be thinking and feeling. Otherwise, whatever would I do?

Pregnancy=sexism. I knew this would happen, but I remain consistently surprised by how strong the bias is, and how unapologetic people are about sharing their nonsense with me.

Life is the Incredible Mess of Good and Bad it Has Always Been
Life hasn't stopped for my pregnancy, of course. There's still good and bad and chaos and all that stuff that has defined life as a Zawn since time immemorial (time began in 1983, in case you were wondering).

Jeff and I will be traveling to Brunswick for a federal trial next week, because if I go into labor I'd rather be in a different city than without my husband.

My sweet dog, Zora, is dying and we do not know if she will make it to the birth.

The devil dog, Brody, is still very much alive, very interested in humping everything, and very consumed by the power and beauty of his own butthole.

I got an orchid to bloom that hasn't bloomed in three years, though the rest of my garden is faring pretty poorly given the heat and my inability to bend or function as a normal human being.

My hair pretty consistently looks like hell.

I'm trying to set up a secret arrangement with the garbage collectors wherein I pay them to come to my house and remove my trash, so that I can stop humiliating myself by leaving a massive pile of trash born of home renovations on the curb each week. So far I've gotten nowhere, though the garbage collectors did recently steal my recycling bin.