I apologize for this photo. I swear (I swear) I wasn’t trying to be all dramatic-zen-mother-gently-gazing-at-womb, it’s just that I looked busted this morning so was feeling face-shy. I freaking hate the winter months. My complexion is the color of paint primer.
Shiste be getting real around here, SON. You are due in less than two months if you hold out for the maximum possible duration. You are full term in only five weeks! WAH! (Also: go baby!)
We started birthing class with the hospital. Jeff and I had about a hundred embarrassing giggle fits, proving (once again) that we have the combined maturity level of an 11 year old and are probably unfit to be parents. (And that we are soul mates, obvi). Giggle fit #1 was during an exercise where the couples had to practice “active listening” by listening to each other for 60 seconds as we answered prompts from the instructor. Jeff’s contribution when asked about his favorite parts of my pregnancy was “Your boobs are big and you always want to go to Outback. Do I get a Klondike Bar now?”
We had another fit as we were being told to use the acronym “TACO” to note the time, amount, color, and odor of my water breaking. I’M SORRY but how were we the only ones stifling laughter at that. Taco. Srsly. HITS TOO CLOSE TO HOME.
Umm, sorry about all that. I think my internet TMI filter gets lower every week.
What else? I freaking love Hypnobabies except I have some serious problems with the CDs putting me to sleep. I can only hope my subconscious is picking up the slack while my failure of a conscious is snoozing away. My belly button is hanging on to its innie status by a very thin thread. I love doing baby laundry. I found out I have an anterior placenta. And there is no Sarah, only Chipotle burritos. All day. Every day. As it was in the beginning and ever shall be, guacamole without end. Amen.