It’s official; I’ve hit the 36 week mark. There should be a celebration; there should be a pitcher of margaritas and dance embraced with reckless abandonment. Where are the triumphant battle cry and the Roar of Katy Perry? Perhaps a glass of decaf ice tea is sufficient; and a chair with a foot stool.
The Roar is replaced with the constant hum of a functioning home: the sounds of dinner, the telling of a child’s day and the reliable sounding off of the family dog. There are questions about practice and plans for the evening ahead; leftover conversations from the prior days carried on in bits and pieces.
Mentally, I am performing a victory lap for making it through my “to do” list today; I used my breaks and lunch to schedule 4 doctor’s appointments (all with different doctors) for the kids, make a reservation for the dog at the kennel, arrange for a furnace inspection, coordinate with the electrician and pay the deposit for our newborn pictures (for the baby not yet arrived).
I am contemplating how long it will take to make and eat dinner and just exactly how those chicken brats in a bun will impact my blood sugar levels exactly one hour from that last bite. I feel like strawberries tonight, maybe I’ll get a little crazy and eat two cups worth. Or, maybe I will have one of those sugar free, Greek yogurt popsicles that taste like nothing but allows me to pretend I am having ice cream. Gestational Diabetes – the only thing controlling my weight gain and ensuring that I can keep my wedding ring on.
What time is it? Is it time to go yet? I wonder how long the t-ball game will last, if all 4 of the kids will show up and where exactly I last saw the can of bug spray.
Speaking of bug spray, the dog is due for his flea and tick medicine . . . as though reading my mind he takes off, only to be lured back with the promise of a T-R-E-A-T. That reminds me, I should walk the dog. The exercise would be good for me and for baby; but, we lost his walking chain, he’ll pull my arm off and act as though he never had any dog obedience classes. Maybe we could stop by the pet store on the way to t-ball; I need to find that coupon and measure the dog’s neck if that’s the case.
I can’t believe they scheduled a t-ball game for 4 year olds at 7:15; who does that? It wasn’t a mom; it most certainly wasn’t a pregnant, working mom. Don’t they realize that bedtime is at 8:30 pm? I suppose I will have to go and be supportive of the coach (my husband) as well as my daughter. I should probably make sure that we have water bottles packed, and bug spray and bring a snack for the kids, just in case one of the moms forgets. Note to self: be a good coach’s wife.
Did I mention that I am 36 weeks pregnant today? Only four more to go; maybe I’ll save the margarita and dancing for when my ankles aren’t so swollen and I can actually have the alcohol.