The Countdown: Single Digits

Nine days. Nine days left. Only nine days. How is it that nine days still feels like an eternity? Probably because realistically we're looking at more like 14 days, seeing as this is my first baby and I haven't dilated any past 1 cm in the last three weeks. C is still crossing his fingers and telling the baby that July 4 is the day, so that makes it 12 days. Nine, 12, 14...all of it is too long for me to clearly see the end. I haven't had any regular contractions surges yet. Sure, I've had some, but not in anything resembling a pattern, so I'm starting to wonder if maybe they're all just in my head. The Bestie reassured me yesterday that I will know when the actual process starts. I really hope that she's right because I am SO OVER being pregnant, for more reasons than one:

1. Sleep
Luckily, I stopped working a week ago today, and in that week I've been able to sleep a lot better than I did while I was working. Still, I get up to pee ever two or three hours, no matter when I stop drinking fluids at night. And if I don't get up, go, and get back without saying anything to C in the process, going back to sleep is a no-go. Once conversation is introduced, my brain turns back on and any chance of sleeping in the following hours is nil. On top of all that, I've got 17 pillows and none of them keep me comfortable for very long. I'll tell you this: even if this is preparation for when the baby gets me up every hour, that can't possibly be as bad as this whole not sleeping soundly and having to pee all the time. At least after he's born I'll be able to sleep on my stomach, as I prefer to do, and without the ridiculously frequent bathroom interruptions.

2. Pregnancy dreams are WEIRD!
I'm not a particularly vivid dreamer, usually. Before I got pregnant it was a rare occasion that I woke up and could remember what I'd been dreaming about. Nowadays it's a rare occasion that I'm not shocked awake by a strange vision, during which I tell myself repeatedly "this is a dream" but am unable to bring myself out of. And over the last few weeks the most vivid of these dreams have become (disturbingly) murder themed. Last week, I was on the move with a group of strangers that were supposed to be my family, trying to hide dead bodies in the backyard of a house in the middle of what looked like rural Idaho between IF and Rexburg. There were three teenagers in the house when we broke in, and one of them ended up taking an ax to the back of the head (see??? DISTURBING) before we all tried to lay low in some backwoods barbecue joint where the cops showed up to chase us out. This morning I was going to see the movie Selena (??) with a group of friends (again, strangers), and was crammed into the dollar theater seats until we all got up and started wandering through a Salvation Army. As we wandered, members of the group started disappearing, and suddenly we were all trying to run away from the hot boy who was out to murder us all. I finally woke up when there were only two of us left, and the murder was trying to break through the door that I was holding shut. WTF?? All of these strange dreams have had the same underlying sense of dread, inability to control what was happening and involved a lot of running, which, I surmise, is my subconscious mind's way of playing out all of the worry and insecurities I have about the responsibilities that come along with having a baby. I'm really, REALLY hoping they stop once he's born.

3. Walking is a lot more difficult than it should be.
Why does everything have to hurt? And why must I waddle so? Seriously, I'm not a fan. Have I mentioned that I live on the third floor? And climbing the stairs never used to bother me. Nowadays, though, even coming up the stairs empty handed gets me all winded. It's embarrassing! C is such a trooper, though. He doesn't let me carry anything heavy, or anything at all if he can help it. But its not just the stairs. If I sit for any length of time, standing up and walking hurts my entire lower half. NO BUENO.

4. Fat.
I'm huge. I don't care that I am pregnant, I am HUGE, and it is not fun.

5. Heat.
There's no happy medium around here for some reason. Either I'm sweating bullets, or I am freezing cold. And it hasn't even been that hot weather-wise in SLC yet. We had maybe two days last week when it got into the 80s, but that was a temporary and fleeting phenomenon. It's worst at night when I can either let my AC click on and off rapidly of its own volition all night, or I can shut it off completely and sleep without any covering (in which case I'll still end up sweating profusely).

So all in all, I'm ready to be done with pregnancy and onto the fun part where I actually get to see and hold and play with my baby. He's getting so big (see #4 above), and every now and then he'll full on punch me in the bladder. His feet are finding their way into my ribs more and more as he gets more and more squished. I'm trying to stay positive about it, but alas, nine days still feels like a freaking long time.