Friday, February 17, 2012
Cause there's nothing, there's nothing you can teach me that I can't learn from Mr. Hathaway
So I've hit 30 weeks. And Amy Winehouse's Rehab song keeps playing in my head. I ain't gonna spent ten weeks...
Although of course I am. And I'm hoping it's ten weeks rather than 11 or 12.
At last week's midwife visit, the girl was head down (yay!). The prior visit, they told me to start visualizing her getting into head-down position. I pretty much suck at visualizing (in the same way that meditation is hard for me - I get distracted) but I started regularly singing "Put your head down. Put your feet up."
Because I've been thinking, oh, you, my little friend, you are not going to be breech after all this pursuit of VBAC and following the midwives' dietary guidelines and putting all that money down for a doula...No no no. You are going to stick your head down there and cooperate.
But, of course, mostly I tried to channel happy warm rainbow puppy thoughts about how much more fun it would be to have her feet up.
I love having my puffy feet and ankles up now, and so it was kind of a soothing thing to say. I'm not saying I got her to turn. But I'm happy about it.
Of course, when there seems to be a lot of activity in there, particularly activity that involves lots of poking with elbows and knees, I always imagine her putting her head back up, all, I'm sick of this upside-down shit! You're not the boss of me!
The night before last, Nick saw me lumbering up the stairs and said, "I don't mean this unkindly, but I don't know how you're going to do this for ten more weeks."
No fucking kidding. Get me a palanquin.
I can't get comfortable, particularly at night. I'm hot, so I throw off the covers. Then my skin is itchy, so I put on lotion. Then my hip hurts, so I roll over, with great difficulty. Then my other hip gets sore. Then I readjust the pillows. Then I'm thirsty. I drink water. Then I need to pee.
Etc. Ad nauseum. Blah blah blah. And so on and so forth.
And yesterday we were walking to work and Nick said something that pissed me off. It wasn't anything egregious, but it just flew all over me.
I was immediately enraged, and in my head was all, who is this fucking asshole and how in hell did I wind up married to such a douchebag?
And thus, and I let him have it.
To which he responded, "Could you dial back the sarcasm by about 50%?"
At which point of course I burst into tears all, "NO! NO I CAN'T DIAL IT BACK! I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO ABILITY TO DO SO I CAN'T DIAL ANYTHING BACK AND THIS IS ONLY GOING TO GET WORSE AND WE HAVE MONTHS AND MONTHS TO GO AND DO YOU THINK I LIKE BEING LIKE THIS?!"
My friend Kaysha told me that her boss said I looked tired. And Kaysha said, "Yeah, we were wondering if Lisa would find anything pregnancy more enjoyable this time. And she doesn't seem to be."
No, I certainly don't, do I?