Jan
28
Well, I was not necessarily expecting THIS this morning:
Now the question is less “will my blood pressure reading allow me to gestate for another week and therefore have that mani/pedi appointment I so richly deserve?” than “will I be T-boned on the way to the doctor’s office by an out-of-control Bellevue driver?”. And of course my OB is only in on Mondays.
Hmmph.
Oh well, it sure is pretty. Riley approves, anyway.
Jan
26
Assuming I don’t go to my Monday OB appointment and receive the Go Directly To the Hospital In Order To Have the Child Forcibly Pried From Your Body card — which is not something I expect to happen but it sure as shit happened the last time I was this pregnant, although I am hoping the complete and total lack of any signs related to high blood pressure (ankle bones still visible, booyah!) means there will be no surprises conjured up by the Arm Cuff of Doom — I have just over one week to go before Smalltopus arrives. Holy SHIT, people.
Things I am planning to do:
• Have a mani/pedi, scheduled for Monday afternoon. I’ve never had hooves AND talons attended to in the same outing before. I am officially so goddamned fancy I can barely stand myself.
• Get a haircut. I just had a cut recently, but I figure a maintenance trim can’t be a bad idea. Plus, shampoo scalp massage. Oooh.
• See at least one matinee, with my boyfriend the Mondo-Sized Junior Mints box. You can help me out with this one, actually: if you could see one movie this week — and you’d already seen I Am Legend, No Country for Old Men, Juno, and Cloverfield — what would it be?
• Perform some vague household puttering. I suppose I could always re-wash some of the baby washcloths, or arrange the onesies by color, or more usefully, fuss over what to pack for the hospital.
• Continue to frighten JB by randomly grunting and moaning. Hey, just getting out of a chair is hard work these days.
• Eat a variety of wonderfully fattening foods completely guilt-free. Tell me, what’s your very favorite food indulgence? Like the thing you know is so bad for you because it contains 205831 calories and fifty sticks of butter or whatever, but you love it beyond all reason anyway? This is my week for eating directly from the Fuckit Bucket, you know what I mean?
• Play with my kid, mano y mano. Oh, my beloved boy. Everything’s about to change, and I’m scared as hell (see also: comfort eating) and god, I hope it will all be okay for him.
(I guess I can just keep giving him more ribbons if he gets too upset, though.)
-
My product review site:
[