I need something else to think about

I’m getting so boring what with baby on the brain all the time.  Sorry if you need something other than baby talk.  I gots nothing else in me.  Perhaps because I’ve got a huge baby in me.

I gave him his 3 week eviction notice last night.  It’s not like he’ll have to scrounge around looking for a couch to surf or anything.  I’ll wait until he’s at least 18 for that type of eviction.

We’ve got two great sleeping areas for him.  His great Auntie Patricia is coming to stay for a few weeks to help me figure out this whole kid thing – that is if she doesn’t get lost in the Heathrow airport looking for Terminal 5 in which to shop. And three feline siblings to watch over him.  Life is good here.  He’ll like it.

And frankly, he’s too big.  And he’s definitely Dancer.  My bladder is tired of it. I can feel those little fingers scratching away “Loki wuz here” and his toes are definitely from my side of the family, all wiggly and fidgety rubbing up against my ribs.

I’m tall.  I can still shave my legs (barely).  I can pick things up.  It’s not comfortable, but I can.  I can only do this because I have the torso length not to be all baby.  How do shorter women deal?  I’m waddling because he’s so low these days, back and forth like Tweedle Dee or Tweedle Dum and I’m thanking my mother’s genes and nutrition for all 5 feet 9 inches.

Tomorrow Loki’s room will be painted. His room and the hall.  The peanut butter stain in the hallway will finally be a thing of the past and Sparky won’t have to remind me that when angry, adults do not throw things.   I won’t have to remind him to learn to catch.

The red room will no longer be red, it’ll be cream with bright white trim.  And we’re even going to get his floor polished – BONUS!  Next week everything will be installed and perhaps I’ll feel ready to go.

My MIL is coming over in 30 minutes.  I’ve made the bed, vacuumed and straightened up.  I’ve removed all sex toys and picked up my underwear.  I’m just not interested in doing more.  Like the windows or dusting the shelves or emptying the garbage. My windows are filthy.  If I just pull the curtains, perhaps she won’t notice.

Does it even matter?  Really? I’ve gotten comfortable in my role of a Schlampe or is it Schlümpf?  I always get those words mixed up.

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8 thoughts on “I need something else to think about

  1. In Yiddish I think it would be schlumpf. But you’re sitting there growing a baby, so it’s not as if you’re not doing something 🙂

    I am 5 feet 4 inches and I have a short torso with a high waist. (I looked GREAT in maternity cut things) I carried LOW.

    The main thing I remember having trouble with was doing my toenails. But the Man was happy to help. Besides, he’s got a bit of a foot fetish 😉

  2. Wait for the baby talk until he’s there. Nothing compared to the current volume 🙂
    Seriously, it’s hard to be more and more confined and occupied with all the preparations. It generally changes your life in so many ways, it dominates your thinking and your schedule and everything. But opportunities for some more egocentric leisure activities will come back.

    There is still, however, time and opportunity to travel to the south and meet in France, eh?

  3. Sounds like everything is coming together. Loved the line about not having to make Sparky catch. hehe, that made me giggle.

    Hope the visit with MIL goes well!

  4. Schluemfe were the little blue cartoon characters back in the late 70’s. Remember papa smurf?

  5. Michelle: I KNOW. it seems like just yesterday I was hoping he’d stick his landing and now, well, now I’d like him to un-stick.

    LL: I know one means dirty whore and the other means smurf, i just always confuse them. Sadly I passed this on to my darling twinkle toes and she might have gotten in trouble at school. One of those things she’ll be able to use against me when she’s 18 and needs an alibi.

    T: Of course. I have to track Sparky down and get his calendar OR I could just come down solo.

    MIM: Bite Me.

    Andrea: Yeah, he doesn’t really like to “Play Catch” with me. But that’s what you get when you marry a uh, passionate woman.

    Gerda: I need some sort of fool proof way of remembering which is which. Smurf or dirty whore. Slightly different. And of course I remember Papa Smurf. It was my first foray into communism.

  6. The end is the worst (sorry not helpful, but unfortunately true). I am only 5’2” so pregnancy result in a searing, burning type of heart burn that no medication eased. There was not room for the kid and my stomach so one had to give. Hang in. Do what you want. Sleep now. Soon it will change.

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