I started the week by forgetting (last week) that Monday (this past) was my birthday. Jim asked if it was okay for him to stay at work late on Monday. I thought about it and said yes. He came home the next day and said he felt horrible for agreeing to work late on Monday, and should he reschedule!? And I said, Why? And then the light bulb went off: Oh. Monday’s my birthday.
*shrug* Oh well.
I still ate an orchard-fresh apple pie that I’ve been hoarding since last October. That was my gift to myself all along. And we ended up buying a stroller/car seat travel system. Not the one we had our eye on at first, but we’re pretty thrilled with it.
Then I read this article on WBUR: Pink Or Blue, It’s All Oversharing: Trendy Parents-To-Be Hold ‘Gender Reveal’ Parties. Hey, my idea of a “gender reveal” was wrapping my dog in $.89 worth of colored crepe paper. I didn’t have a bridal shower or a bachelorette party — over my dead body — and clearly I’m capable of forgetting my own birthday — but I’m agreeing to a baby shower because this one isn’t about me, it’s about the little person who’s on her way. And she deserves a party every freakin’ day, for what it’s worth. In fact, every day that she digs her toes in my bladder or leans her elbow on the Sore Spot Near My Belly Button is a day to throw mental confetti and blow noisemakers. She’s there, gosh darnit, and that’s a celebration in and of itself, considering what a long shot that was. The idea of throwing a party for myself just makes my skin creep. A gender reveal party isn’t for the baby, it’s for the parents. And maybe it’s a decent excuse to have a barbecue and eat cake anyway if the weather is nice, but our gender reveal fell in the dead of winter, so who wants to do anything but hibernate?
Took my glucose tolerance test this week. The clear liquid tasted like a melted lime/green popsicle, but still cold because I drank it straight from its slot in the refrigerator door. Despite all the horror stories I’ve heard, it was actually pleasant tasting. It wasn’t carbonated or thick and sludgy, so it went down quickly and easily. It only took me about a minute and a half to drink it, while typing and covering things with co-workers.
Heard at my 28 week appointment:
the OB, chasing a swiftly moving heartbeat around: “She doesn’t stay still, does she?!”
me, thinking of the 3 (now 4) AM samba parties, insistent ju jitsu jabs, and practice bicycle riding: “Nnnnnnope.”