The blind leading the blind

Look at me, posting less than 10 days after my last entry! I am far more pleased with myself than I should be.

I would just like the world to know, that at nearly 33 weeks, I have discovered that maybe this whole toiling-to-have-a-kid thing was a bad idea. I know nothing about pregnancy, babies, or small children. I don't even like most of the little things, as I've stated many times in the past. When going through infertility treatment I regularly felt like an imposter. Here I was, doing all this work to get pregnant, knowing that despite wanting to have a child or two, I had no idea what to do with them.

As we are coming closer and closer to what appears to be the time in which a large cantaloupe will be expelled from my vagina, I am increasingly terrified about what I don't know. I don't know how to hold a baby, I don't know how to bathe a baby, and I certainly don't know how to change a diaper. I was out being all goth and what not when those issues were covered in the Your Duty as a Woman and as Thus a Maternal Figure classes. Believe it or not, I babysat a lot in my teenage years, yet somehow, diaper changing was never something that came up.

Last night The Dude and I went shopping for baby-related things. Up to this point we have been only buying clothing because that's easy. Babies wear onesies and sleepsuits (though I still had to be told this - it is not knowledge I naturally possessed), as well as cute little dresses and skirts sometimes. We even purchased a wardrobe, changing table/bureau, and crib a month or so ago.

However, asking me to get all the tiny little incidental things and I'm screwed. I need a manual to tell me what, and how much of it to buy. Socks - will she wear them all the time? How often and how long do they need scratch mitts? What sort of tub should we buy? Don't even get me started on all the breastfeeding-related items, as my eyes just glaze over and drool will form in a large puddle on the floor. I'm waiting for this subject to come up in my antenatal class so the better-informed women in my group can tell me exactly what is needed.

I know this all seems like piddling stuff. I'm aware it's hard to raise children, but how is it this difficult to prepare for their arrival? Shit. I actually cried in the middle of one of the stores last night because I felt so useless. I thought I put all those days of spontaneous crying at inopportune moments behind me once all the fertility meds stopped. I guess not.

I can't believe I am admitting that I find comfort in a fictitious character, but I feel just like Miranda in Sex in the City at the moment. Granted, Charlotte was the one who went through all the fertility treatment and knew everything about babies, but Miranda's approach to impending motherhood was much more my speed. Charlotte had to guide Miranda through all the baby preparations, while Miranda just looked baffled. I need a Charlotte to tell me exactly what I need to do, or else this kid is going to come out and be kept in a cupboard or something. No tiered cake made out of diapers though please.

On a random and less oh woe is me note, I won a long-standing competition today. Last June 22, I mentioned a certain Ms Bea Arthur in a post. Sarah, from the now defunct Badlands (boo hiss), threw down the gauntlet and challenged me to see who would get the first Bea Arthur related hit. I responded saying it was so on, and anxiously awaited my first hit about Bea Arthur's boobs. I waited a long time, but I am pleased to say the wait is no over and I have won. Yeah, ok, Sarah doesn't have a blog anymore so it's kind of a moot point, but small victories, right? As for the person searching for this, the holy grail of all things perverse, my hat is off to you sir/madam, as you have a stronger stomach than I.


Size does matter

Christ on a bike, it's been nearly 3 weeks since my last post again. I'm not very good at this pregnancy blogging thing. My lack of blogging has a lot to do with being far too lazy and fucking hot to type, plus with all the bad news floating around the IF blogosphere I feel immensely self-centred blabbing about pregnancy-related crap that ultimately doesn't matter.

So what am I going to do now but blog about these things? Yeah, I'm nothing if not consistent. I won't talk about being fat, because I still maintain that my pregnancy weight gain has been in all the right places. However, I will blog about my current resemblance to an aging plowhorse.

In my everyday life, I manage to convince myself that I am not an unwieldly beast, knocking over unsuspecting passersby with my massive girth. I even wore a lovely empire waist summery dress the other day and felt good about my appearance. Sidenote- empire waists are rocking my world. As a boobylicious girl with a non-stick body, I don't get to wear these things when not pregnant. I've always loved empire waists and now I finally get to wear shirts and dresses with them without looking looking pregnant when I'm not, because I am! Anyway, I'm beginning to think me in the empire waist dress is less Gwen Stefani, more Pru Goes to the Big Top. It's not a help when a female co-worker (and noted Child Bore) says: "Is it just me, or do you look bigger today? Oh, it's probably just the dress!" Haha! Of course. Both options are just oh-so flattering, and I thank you for pointing out my tent-like status. I can house small children and rodents underneath it during thunderstorms!

Tuesday night was our first antenatal class, and of the 7 other women, I was only one of two that even looked pregnant. This, despite the fact that the latest due date was early September. Being as the class is run in a small village's little hippy dippy meditation centre (no shoes allowed!!) we had to sit on large cushions positioned on the carpet. For two hours. How wise is this? My fat ass had to lever myself down to the floor utilising the radiator for balance, and getting up...well, let's just say it was a mess of massively awkward proportions. Ass may have been seen by some of the other attendees thanks to my sliding maternity jeans and my preoccupation with getting up without seeing stars rather than focusing on inevitable plumber's butt.

We did a few exercises that involved group work and drawing on big pieces of paper placed on the floor. I sat on my cushioned throne, watching these other lithe creatures crawl all over the floor like they didn't have a uterus the size of a soccer ball and a 3-4 pound baby inside of them. The odd thing is, I'm not terribly out of shape for a woman of nearly 32 weeks. I walk a lot every day, eat lots of fruit and drink a lot of water. Why can I not glide across the floor effortlessly like them? I tried to lean over once to write on the paper and it was as if I'd just carried a 100 pound bag of rocks across the Sahara, it was such an effort. Where are the larger-stomached women and why are they not in my antenatal class? Don't even get me started on the woman who had beautifully (French) pedicured toes and manicured nails. I looked down at my grubby, chipped toenail polished feet in shame, attempting to cover them with the flares of my jeans.

Sitting here now, I've just realised that I have what might be one of the most disgusting exhibits of pregnancy during hot weather - the under boob sweat. Yeah. The boobs, they kind of rest on the top of my stomach, so when it's unbearably hot as it is now, there is a lovely line of sweat appearing on my top between the boobs and stomach. I really hope that hasn't shown itself when I'm at work because, wow...that's a little bit embarrassing.

Along the same lines, and stop reading if you're easily disgusted, is the fact that I think I may have developed a FUPA. Thankfully, said FUPA is not visible when standing up, but when sitting down there is definite FUPA-age. I was trimming the garden the other day when I first noticed it and it was a sad, sad time for me. I thought surely FUPA was an urban myth, or one of those things that just happens to other women, but here it is on my doorstep. FUPA and boob sweat at the same time? I am one hot bitch.

To wrap this up, I'll tell you of a funny conversation I had with my mom the other day:

Her: Well, you'll certainly get used to needles and people poking around down there in this time leading up to having the baby and when you actually have it.

Me: Uh, you are aware that this child was conceived via IVF, right? There is a slight element of vaginal exams and needles involved with that whole procedure.

Her: I know. I'm just saying you'll get even more accostomed to it now.

Me: Yeah...ok. Wait, you do know of the 4 IUIs before the IVF right? The endless cycles of Clomid before that? This cooch has seen more action from a magic wand than 100 lesbian pornos and more needles than even the most dedicated junkie could use in a lifetime.

Her: Pru, I know. I'm just saying...

Oh, they never learn, do they? All those times I've told her about the rigours of infertility treatments, and now all of a sudden it's childbirth that is going to acclimate me to people being all up in my business and poking needles in me. It's all so simple in their world, isn't it?