Home Alone! Please don’t send anyone

I’m home alone for two nights! Just me. I’d like to thank everyone who has made this possible: Captain and my in-laws.

Last night was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in 3.5 years. I really think that’s true. I slept for 10 hours straight. Nobody waking me up. No bathroom. Nothing but calm silence.

I’ve had my fair share of nights away from BB, so that’s not the only contributing factor. I think the magic sleeping pixie dust was being alone in my house in my own bed and having zero agenda.

A walk, a coffee, a soda-water mimosa, writing my blog, working on photo albums, that’s what I’ve got planned. And the timeline for it is anyone’s guess.

People asked if I’m getting together with friends. No way! I can do that when Captain is around. I’m hoarding my home-alone time. After all, this is it, the home stretch. I’m almost 30 weeks pregnant.

The varicose veins in my legs and crotch continue to get worse. They burn and tingle and bulge, BUT with BB I was nauseous until the end so if I’m going to have only one physical issue, I’ll take the veins.

I’ve reached the point where my body announces itself whether I want it to or not. I’m pregnant and on display for general public questioning.

I’m used to and very bored by the standard fare:

  • “When are you due?”
  • “How far along are you?”
  • “Is it a boy or a girl?”

When I mention my due date a woman says,

“Oh October is a very popular birthday!”

I haven’t heard this before. I ask,

“Because of the school year cut off?”

“No, because of the New Year!”

“The Jewish New Year?” This seems very unlikely, but what else could she mean?

“No! Conception date! New Year’s Eve.”

“Ah. That’s not really our story.”

“Oh but I guess it is!”

Thanks lady, but no. First of all I had my period New Year’s Eve. Second we thought we were going to be 7 months pregnant at that point, but instead we were on our 3rd try for our 3rd pregnancy. It’s October because that’s what we got.

And of course just when I think my belly speaks for itself, it doesn’t and I still end up struggling to get what I want.

I was craving a large meatball sub. Especially the large part. The place I want to go to is closed. I drive down the road unwilling to give up on my dream. I see another Italian joint. I order my sub. I’m the only customer in there. No one else. I step back from the counter to wait. The person who made it, a different person from the cashier, steps up and hollers,

“Meatball sub!”

I lunge for it. She pulls back and asks,

“Large meatball sub?”

Are you kidding me? There’s no one else here. Does she doubt my ability to eat a large meatball sub? Because I’m about to INHALE it and her arm along with it.

Last but not least I took BB for her 3-year-old photo session. The photographer is a lovely woman I met last year for BB’s 2-year-old photos. I haven’t seen or talked to her since.

She notices my belly and seems oblivious to any social constraints on what the “standard” stranger questions seem to be. She dives right in and I find myself feeling more surprised than put off and I answer honestly,

“Was this a planned pregnancy?”

“Yes.”

“Oh that’s good. Are you done?”

“I sure hope so.”

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Sexy is hard, approachable is attainable

30 weeks pregnant. Ten more weeks until MY birthday.

I can’t help feeling like one big giant belly. I know I have some sexy bits somewhere. Will I see my waist again? I hope so, but I hear there’s no guarantee. My boobs, which looked so big 20 weeks ago and definitely haven’t gotten smaller, are being eclipsed by my belly. Although they’re enjoying having a shelf to rest on.

Captain comes home. I’m wearing pink velour pants, one of the three pairs of pants that  fit and an oversized sweatshirt. He tells me,

“You look beautiful.”

I tease him,

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Very… approachable.”

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