I am here at the other Perkins house doing my homework (ha!) because the internet at our house is working like a crabby old woman, sporadic and resentfully and with a distinct smell of dust and old perfume. Also, the other Perkins house has a beautiful red massage chair that reclines, has a foot rest, and does not make my back hurt even if I sit in it for three straight hours, which I will likely do since I have alot of homework today. And while I have alot of homework to do and should certainly be doing it, I cannot, because I was hit with the writing bug today. Yay! That is such a good feeling.
I have spent alot of my pregnancy (which is now in its 31st week) pondering the iconic pregnant woman and comparing myself to her. She and I? we are quite different. For the purposes of this entry, I will name iconic pregnant woman Alvira Elaine.
Alvira has many strange food cravings. After she was able to keep down food like a normal person, the first food she craved was pickles and ice cream. Since then she has had subsequent cravings for Dreamsicles and popcorn, apple slices dipped in ranch dressing, a bowl of sweet relish, warm Sprite, peanut butter brownies and orange juice, steak with watermelon on the side, and twinkies. Her husband, Theodore, has been sent on midnight runs for many of these snacks and never, not once, has he complained about it. He hasn't complained about it because he is a good husband and because he fears the wrath of the suddenly round woman in his home, the one prone to throwing dishes and crying over things like diapers, pine needles and his lack of concern for her swollen feet. Alvira does indeed have strange mood swings. She has turned into a verfiable crazy woman, equally likely to squall, yell, blow up, or coo at the cat when he decides to take a nibble of her toast. She has used more tissue in the past 7 months than a gaggle of pre-teen girls stuffing their bras for the after-school dance.
Alvira is always either hot or cold. Her body temperature changes quite dramatically. She gags if the neighbors three houses down mop their floors with PineSol. Her shoes don't fit anymore. She walks around with a protective hand on her belly, quick to protect it from errant chairs or baseballs. She has entered into the phase of nesting, where she begins padding and preparing her home for the new baby. New paint, new sheets, new shelves, clean floors and more soft blankies than could ever be used by one person. She glows with the goddessy glow of expectant mothers and her hair is thick and shiny.
Now we take me. I haven't any strange cravings, and have never asked Rusty to leave at midnight to get me a double cheeseburger from McDonald's. I've considered doing this at least one time just so he can have the experience, but I'm not usually awake at midnight. I'm not especially wrathful, or crazy though certain shows like Extreme Home Makeover make me cry. Rusty told me one time that he liked how chipper and nice I was and that he wanted to keep me pregnant. Ha! We'll see about that after he changes some dirty diapers and cleans up baby puke. My body temperature is fairly normal and I often forget how far my belly sticks out and will run into chairs or door jams with it (not hard, don't worry). Oh, and that pregnant glow? It's called sweat. That happens when I force myself to walk up the stairs to class rather than taking the elevator.
However, the nesting one. Oh my sweet goodness, the nesting syndrome has hit me like a 10 pound sack of potatoes. I went to the grocery store today and when I got home, I organized the canned food, the boxes, and the chips. Then I organized all my tea. Then I cleaned out the fridge and the freezer. Then, (folks I am not kidding) I vaccumed my bed. Not under it, not around it. I vaccumed the blankets on the bed. Am crazy.
This weekend we painted the baby's room. I wandered around WalMart today trying to think of things we needed to make our house more homey. I bought new sheets and may end up ironing them before I put them on the bed. And last night? I took care of my clothes before I went to bed. I believe I may be losing my mind.
Alvira and I have at least one thing in common, our husbands should take our debit cards before we end up spending hundreds of dollars on good smelling candles and new picture frames to frame the baby's sonogram pictures.