1. I'm drowning in my own mucus. Tasty! For some reason, I'll spare you the biology lesson, pregnancy equals nasal issues. In the first few months, that meant I was squirting Afrin like a fiend and snoring like a beast because I was so stuffed up I could hardly breathe. But now that I'm here at the end of the road, it means I'm dripping like a faucet and running through about a box of Kleenex a week. Lucky for me, who doesn't love the honking symphony of clearing one's nasal passages every ten minutes? Good times.
2. I need to up my daily Kegel count. To keep things hot in the bedroom? No. To help avoid tears during birth? No. Because it's a great way to pass the time when being bored to death during one of the mister's rambling stories? No. I need to up my daily Kegel count because I am now afraid to laugh, cough, or sneeze without being within three feet of a restroom. Yeah, that's right. I leak. Shut up, it's just a little! So far it's only happened twice, and (until I brilliantly decided to go public just now) no one was the wiser, but that's two times too many. Think I'm gross? Well, you're right. But then so is every other pregnant lady in town. In fact, there's even a chapter in one of my pregnancy books called, "Urine for a lot of fun!". Yup, nothing like having six pounds of fidgety baby bouncing on your bladder to bring on the incontinence. God, I miss having control over my bodily functions.
3. I'm mushy. Not in a Hallmark channel movie of the week sort of way (I'm having a baby, people, not a lobotomy), but in a "Hey, you're a centimeter dilated!" way. "Mushy" was my midwife's exact choice of words when describing what she felt while elbow deep into my lady bits and poking around like they do. And in case you were wondering, this is in fact a good thing. Ten centimeters is a whole lot of dilatin' to get through... any little bit helps. So let's just hope my cervix isn't on the fast track to baby birthing and I end up dropping foal like a horse in the middle of the mall. Ew.
Yeah yeah yeah, don't thank me for all this unnecessary and slightly disturbing information. Pregnancy isn't always pretty in case you haven't yet caught on. I'm just trying to keep it real. And if this is the stuff that I was actually okay discussing, imagine what kind of craziness I've chosen not to share with you? Actually, don't, you'll make yourself sick. But whatever. I'll be 36 weeks along tomorrow... which means that within one to five weeks, I will have a baby. A real, live, eating, shitting, screaming little person of my very own. And then the bitchefest will move out of body and you'll get to hear all about my fun with exploding diapers and what it's like to live on 3 hours of sleep a day! Excited yet? You know I am.
With love and fart (typo, but I'm keeping it) too much information,