Did you know Thanksgiving was last Thursday? I bet you haven't heard. It couldn't have come soon enough. I needed that 4 day weekend, and that's no lie. I wore my flannel pajama pants the whole time. I sat on the couch and ate pie and drank buckets of tea. It snowed and I started knitting a blanket. My mom and I stayed up late Facebook stalking and laughing until we cried. The crib was ordered. I made important life decisions like maybe I should wear eyeliner again? And perhaps I'll take advantage of this progesterone and grow out my bangs! Which was a great time to make that decision considering I trimmed my bangs last week. But, timing has never been a strength of mine. I ripped my coat trying to zip it up. The thing about being 6 months pregnant is that you shouldn't expect your clothes to fit, even if they did the day before. Especially not after Thanksgiving dinner, but, you know, timing. It's no surprise that the next big buy of the weekend was a maternity coat. I talked to my grandparents in California, where they were celebrating an 86 degree Thanksgiving. I cringed when I heard that and pulled the fleece blanket a little tighter around me. Sometimes I miss my homeland more than I can stand, but never during the holidays. I need the snow and the cold and the seasons. A life with no wool socks is no life for me. And I wore mine while decorating my parents' tree and eating their food.
And then there was Saturday. It stopped snowing, which I'm convinced ruined everything. I woke up sleep deprived and in the worst mood I've had in months. I had a full-fledged anxiety attack over having a baby and hospital bills and what if I never sleep again and we still need so many things and I GIVE UP I CAN'T DO IT. I cried for actual HOURS about anything and everything. I spent the rest of the day in the fetal position watching movies. In an effort to salvage the day, I went to a few baby stores because SALES! and because this child still has nary a thing to wear. I found some fleece newborn onesies, one with cats on it, and I immediately felt better about everything. I still have no idea how I'm going to handle motherhood, but if cat onesies are involved, I'm going to be ok. And then I saw the onesie with the hot pink deer and I thought this is what I've been waiting for my whole life, and there was the slightest spring in my step again. I finished the night off with a glass of eggnog and swollen eyes and feeling a little bit like maybe life wasn't going to kill me. Sunday was spent recuperating from Saturday with a slew of Christmas movies and open windows because it was 65 out and I don't want to talk about it. Just please tell me I'm not the only one who needs a day to recover after having an emotional breakdown. At least I got my act together enough to order our Christmas cards. Would it be weird to display our own Christmas card? I love it that much. Merry Christmas, James and Michelle! Love, James and Michelle.
I had an OB appointment yesterday morning. The Monday after Thanksgiving. Timing, once again. I felt my heart pounding the second I stepped on the scale and had to explain my higher than normal blood pressure to the doctor as my nervousness over the scale and also because the smart nurse took it seconds after I sprinted to the room holding my coat and boots. Due to a minor scare last week (all is well!), the doctor suggested a cervical check, which as we all know is every woman's favorite activity. She led me to a different room that was covered in windows. As I lay there spread eagle and trying to pretend that what was happening wasn't actually happening, I realized I was facing the windows with the blinds wide open. I gave the hospital parking lot a lovely morning show. To make it worse, when the doctor walked out of the room and I stood up in a rush to grab my clothes, I realized that I was standing right next to the open window. Naked as a jay bird from the waist down. I should care, but at this point in this pregnancy, I have lost so much dignity and self-respect that all I could do was laugh. I did, however, manage to salvage a tiny bit of dignity when I got my flu shot and DIDN'T CRY. I thought about it, believe me, but I figured if I could make it through 4 months of unbearable nausea, I could handle a shot. I had a different point of view an hour later when my arm was on fire.
And then I went to the front desk and scheduled my glucose test. For the Monday after Christmas. I accepted the appointment card from the receptionist as if I'm not already chomping at the bit to make Christmas cookies. Timing, once again, gets the best of me.