Preggy

33

Dear Frogson,

Holy moly dude you are huge.  Like, overnight.  I swear I woke up one day this week and I was carrying James Gandolfini.  Now when you move, I will feel fists down at the bottom of my pelvis and little feet all the way up at my ribs.  WTF, since when are you like 6 feet tall!?

Speaking of growing.  Omigosh.  Let me say this.  Before this journey, there were many things moms would do that made me roll my eyes and say SRSLY? At the top of the list would be these Facebook status updates– which I have seen about 1,045 iterations of– you have too…

OMG emotional day.  Lots of tears.  Cannot believe my baby turns one and a half months today!!!! It seems like just yesterday he was born, except it was… actually… like… forty three days ago! Stop growing! Life moves too fast!

and…

THE DAY I HAVE DREADED SINCE 2009 IS HERE.  MY BABY IS LEAVING ME TO GO TO PRESCHOOL FOR 3 HOURS.  DEAD.  DEAD INSIDE.  DYING.  CANNOT GO ON.  LIFE HAS NO MEANING.  PRAYING FOR DEATH.  IF YOU NEED ME I’LL BE SOBBING IN THE CORNER WATCHING YO GABBA GABBA.

Please don’t hate me because GIRLS I FEEL YOUR PAIN NOW.  You can expect this kind of hysteria and more coming from me in the months to come, it’s a certainty.

This is what happened.  I was doing laundry.  A combo of our regular laundry with new baby stuff thrown in.  (I could do baby laundry all day.  I look at these little newborn outfits and I just think No.  Not possible.  What is this ridiculous little onesie thing.  Just stop.  It’s not possible they make creatures so tiny and precious that they fit into this.)

And as I’m matching socks (#housewifeproblems) I am gazing at these tiiiiny little baby socks next to Jeff’s big old argyle man socks.  And I’m thinking… wait… you mean Frogson won’t wear these tiny little socks his whole life? He’ll… like… someday… wear big man socks? Laundered in a home he doesn’t share with me? Folded by some wife of his? (BACK OFF MY FROGSON, FLOOZIE WHOREBAG).

My tear ducts activated thinking about this.  They did again just recounting the moment as I wrote this.  I wish this was a joke.  It’s so not.

What else.  Your nursery just needs a mattress, a rocker (hopefully), and some crap on the walls.  In another embarrassing admission, I will tell you that sometimes I just step in and flick the light on and sort of stand there gazing in wonderment and imagining you in it.  There’s a lot of Hallmark channel moments around here.  It’s not attractive.

You have diapers on order.  And a first name! It’s a surprise.  You’ll get it when you get here.  Even in our conversations just the two of us, you’re still Frogson.  For about seven more weeks.  AHH!

See you soon, fetuscakes.

Love,
Your very excited Mama

————–

Don’t forget to enter the Tiny Prints giveaway before the end of the day on Monday! There have not been a ton of takers… WTF, are you all overachievers that got cards already?  Or is all this tripe I generate just floating out there in the universe, silent and unread? (This is the likely scenario).  Go over and make it competitive! 🙂

Oh and happy belated Thanksgiving!

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