Fat Rain

Hallo, Nesting! (picture/hear Hannah Hart in your head) I have so looked forward to your arrival and now you are here. Precious. I love the nesting, however, it does make it very difficult to concentrate on anything else. You want to talk to me about my day? I want to go home and reorganize my closet. What am I up to these days? Well, I - am just thinking about cleaning the carpet, so I really don't have an answer for you. Stop asking me questions and just let me wreak uncluttering havoc on my home!

Possibly the largest benefit from my overwhelming need to absterge, other than my neat home, is work. I work in an environment where my overly efficient pregnant self is exceedingly helpful. I get everything done in a timely manner and am on top of dates and times and programing and website upkeep and God knows what else. It's almost irritating, to be honest. Things don't take me as long as they normally do - which would be great, except I'm paid by the hour. My prompt pregnant mannerisms are depleting my paycheck. If only I had less scruples and could lie about my hours... but I work for a church and I feel like that's cheating. So, instead! I am making up stuff to do! Like working on things a month in advance and reorganizing all the files in the computer! Golly gee!

I'm listening to Britney, don't judge me.

Here's the issue lately: I want to be taken seriously. Seriously. Stop asking me if I'm ready to take care of an infant, then laughing and patting me on the head. I am far more prepared for 3 hour sleep intervals than I was to multiply my pants size, so shhhhhhhhhhhh. And while I realize the average childbearing age is rising, there was a time when being "16 and pregnant" was not news. Because it was normal. Now, I'm not advocating teenage pregnancy, there is something to be said about our generation maturing later. But for serious people - stop your judging! No judgey!

That "no judgey" line doesn't just apply to chastisement from older people, it also applies to all those young people who get irritated and uppity about their friends getting married and having babies. Do I judge you for going to club until 4am to "dance up on some honeys?" No. Well, sometimes. So I need to take my own advice! Live and let live, humans. I'm happy being married and preggo. And I'm happy for you if you're happy not remembering your Friday nights. Do I think you're nuts? Absolutely. But I'm overjoyed that you're having a good time, bro. Let me have mine.

Speaking of myself, my good friend Wynn found this gem and it made her think of me:
http://sadiedear.blogspot.com/2012/03/peek-inside.html
That, friends, is the nicer, more politely spoke, glasses wearing version of me with a better laid out blog. Have I offended you lately? Read her sweet verbage instead of my harsh and overexcited tones until you feel like we can be friends again. In all seriousness though, it's a cute blog.

In other news, the weather... yah.

I am not a multitasker. I always put that I am on resumes, but it's recently come to my attention? That I am a liar. I wasn't intentionally misrepresenting myself - I was misunderstanding myself. I thrive under high amounts of pressure and do well with lists, but that's not the same thing. Once I start a project, I am able to put it away and start/finish another, but I am not able to do them simultaneously. My ability prioritize well and do excellent work under duress lead me to believe myself a multitasker. Funny how you're never really done learning about yourself...

Marriage? Continues to be awesome. I married the anxious version of myself - right down to the curly hair (I keep praying that our child will have Mark's hair rather than mine, his is so nice and soft! Mine is just unruly.). We have deep lengthy conversations about world issues and make sex jokes, we watch Dr Who, have on going Canasta games to 50,000 points, Pinterest shamelessly, make delicious home cooked meals (on tonight's menu? Doughnuts, son!), laugh until it hurts, spend sunny days laying together in the hammock, fold laundry, slow dance in our kitchen, take long showers, and just love one another. It's disgustingly wonderful.

I love fat rain drops, it's one of those times being grossly overweight is incredibly beautiful.

Pregnancy continues to improve. I like nesting, nests are cool. I spend probably too much of my time daydreaming about baby, but I don't mind. I love the little (and big) kicks and that I can watch my belly move. I love the sleepy joy that overtakes me when I think about becoming a mom. Third trimester is definitely the best. 11 weeks to go as of Saturday? I think so. Strangely, thinking of it in terms of weeks? Makes the last leg seem a little shorter than thinking about it in terms of months. Mark keeps forgetting that the month of July exists, so every time someone reminds him it's not just June and then August and baby is here? He gets all pouty. It's pretty funny.

I'm really excited to teach Marko about babies. It's been so much fun to go through this process with him. He still firmly believes that our critter will come out and be able to go spear-fishing with Daddy and eat homemade baby food. I'm hoping reality will set in once August is here, but honestly? I wouldn't be surprised or disappointed if it doesn't. He's going to be such a good father, I married a good one.

Okay, love you, bubye!