That's how many weeks left I have. Two.
People keep asking me how I feel. It's a little tough for me to know how to answer that question. Let's see...
Should I mention the flaming fiery ball of heartburn that sits 24/7 in my lower esophagus?
The immense fatigue that has me falling asleep as I type at my computer at work?
The complete inability to sleep, despite the aforementioned fatigue, that has me tossing and turning all night?
The fact that I no longer see myself when I look in the mirror, I see this:
And this:
Lose the cape, then change the flower pattern to camouflage and the sneakers to Army boots and THIS is how I look in my uniform.
What about the "psycho dreams" (as Mike puts it) that I've been having lately. Example: Last night I dreamed my cankles got so bad that it cut off the circulation to my toes, which all turned black and fell off.
And who has time for that "pregnancy glow" that people talk about when you're running off to the bathroom 42 times a day?
Also, I'm pretty sure that the vertebrae in my back are unionizing and plan to organize a massive strike against me for the pain I've been putting them through.
So...what that essentially means is that I feel exactly the way I should for being 8 1/2 months' pregnant. That might be a good way to answer, except that, despite the laundry list of typical pregnancy complaints, I think that three words sum it up perfectly:
I feel happy.
Our checkups have all shown that our baby girl is growing well and the pregnancy is progressing.
People from home, work, and church have thrown us wonderful showers and made us feel so loved.
Mike, as always, is so supportive and considerate. (Three bouquets of flowers and a silver necklace on Mother's Day. He's the best.)
We're looking forward to visits from family after the baby's born.
I finally get to buy cute baby girl shoes. And clothes. And toys. And decorations. And shoes.
Truly, it's not a bad trade-off in the grand scheme of things, especially when I know there's eventually an end in sight.
