Never mess with an extremely pregnant woman... Or, how to make Mommy feel better....

I don't usually like to whine. At least not in such a public forum. But it's been a long week, so bear with me.

While I haven't actually hit my due date yet, I am still, surprisingly pregnant. Pregnant and miserable. I don't usually handle my last trimester very graciously, but in these past several days I seem to have reached new lows.

At about 36 weeks, I started having contractions. I wanted to make it to at least term, so I put myself on semi-bed rest, and breathed a sigh of relief when I made it to the next weekend. Good Friday was the 37 week mark, so I knew I was fine to deliver at any time. Not that I wanted to deliver Easter weekend, but if he was ready, so be it. Even so, we took a chance and drove to the beach that day. The beach is about 90 minutes away, but I felt we'd be okay.

I was right. At least as far as labor went. No baby. But, when my 2 year-old decided to go swimming in the surf by himself, I took off after him, without even thinking to yell for John. Now, running that hard when you're that pregnant was probably something no one wanted to watch, and is definitely not something I recommend. When I hit the edge where the dry soft sand met the wet hard sand, I went down hard. But even winded, I didn't stop until my son was safe on dry ground again. Then the adrenaline passed, and I barely made it back to our stuff. John took Andrew, and I collapsed under the beach umbrella and stayed there. Thankfully, the baby began moving fairly soon, so I knew he was okay. My groin on the other hand, was not. I spent the next few days trying not to cry every time I moved.

Since I wasn't moving much, my feet swelled up, adding to my discomfort. I can't really reach my feet, haven't been able to in weeks, so I sadly had to just watch them swell. John had a basketball tournament at church, and had to work tech over the weekend, so I barely saw him. Tuesday he was finally free, and able to help me put the boys to bed. That night he graciously agreed to sit with them until lights out, and I headed downstairs to put my feet up. That's when it happened.

I blame my swollen feet, but I'm still not entirely sure why I missed a step and tumbled head over feet almost the whole way. I ended up headfirst, striking my head on the last 3 or 4 steps, and coming to a stop when I hit the wall at the bottom of the stairs. John was ready to call 911, but thankfully I was able to get up (with help), and spent the rest of the night icing various parts of my body. The baby once again moved around fairly quickly, assuring me that he was fine, so I waited until the next day to call the midwife, and then called the chiropractor.

I know I am very blessed to have walked away from that with nothing more than some nasty bruises and a broken toe, but the resulting contractions (which I was warned could happen) got me excited that maybe the baby would be joining us soon. I figured as long as I was already miserable, I might was well get it all over with and begin the recovery process all at once.

Thursday, I even thought I was in labor. The contractions were coming hard and fast, and were really starting to hurt. But, at my appointment that day, I was informed that no, not yet, but it could happen. About 4:30am the next morning, I was starting to think that maybe this was really it, but no. The contractions stopped once again, with no sign of a baby.

Friday, I hoped all day, but went about my life as normally as possible. (Physical pain notwithstanding) By Saturday morning, when for the first time in several days I hadn't been woken by contractions throughout the night, I was starting to resign myself to waiting a bit longer. We took Timothy to his school "Family Field Day" and then took in a free FSU football game. I was actually feeling pretty good for someone who's 9 1/2 months pregnant. The bruises were healing, and aside from my swollen belly and feet, I felt I could function. Baby needed more time to bake obviously, so I would be patient.

Yeah.... That feeling lasted until the next morning. I dragged myself out of bed, and made it to church, but I was feeling really sapped by the time the first half-hour was up. It didn't help that I was dealing with what felt like EVERY member of our congregation offering advice, encouragement, their own (or their wives) birth stories, and having people I barely knew touching my belly, rubbing my back, and... let's just say that I was ready to bite someone's head off before church even started.

I know they all meant well, and they're all wonderful people (even the ones who's names I couldn't remember), and I know I must have looked pretty miserable for them to have been trying to make me feel better, but really, all I wanted was to crawl back in my bed and pretend the rest of the world didn't exist. This baby had been teasing me for almost 2 weeks with his impending arrival, and I really didn't need the rest of the world reminding me of it!

Thankfully, we made it out of church without my doing anyone any damage. I even managed to be polite to everyone I spoke to. My sweet husband put me to bed, and I felt better after a 2 hour nap. Mainly, I think it was the alone time.

Unfortunately, I'm still slightly bitter about still being pregnant. I mean, I want my body back, dang it! I'm tired of not being able to move, of feeling like I need a crane to get off the couch, of not being able to fit into ANY of my shoes... And, after 2 weeks, I'm done getting excited over every contraction. They happen every time I move, so I'm over it. John, not so much. He made the mistake of asking about my latest "stop-and-breathe" moment as I was getting up to make the boys some lunch, and I snapped at him. Then promptly broke down crying for being such a witch. He wisely steered me out of the kitchen and into the bedroom and held me until I calmed down, assuring me that it was okay.

It was then that we heard our offspring getting into the fridge. Nervously, I sent John to check on things, and he discovered our sons tearing lettuce into a bowl and adding whole baby carrots. They were making me lunch. John helped them cut some tomatoes and shred some cheese, and my little angels brought me my salad. I then started crying to a totally different reason, but I felt so much better.

This baby really doesn't seem to be in a hurry to come out, so I should stop being so impatient. I will have plenty of time to hold him, and soon, this discomfort will be but a faint memory (That's how we are able to get pregnant again right? By forgetting?). But for now, I need to remember the rest of my family, and cherish them as well. I'm going to try. Hormones make it difficult, and I will probably do my best to avoid anyone outside of the men in my life, but I am treasured, and I need to do better showing them that I treasure them too. I am so blessed.

I still miss my shoes though.... =)