35 weeks: Staying on the couch is safer

With a mere 34 days until Collin is scheduled to make his appearance, I have become a (very tired) moving target.

Everywhere I go, people ask when I am due, if I know what I am having, if it's my first child, and (my favorite) if I'm nervous. To recap: June 10, a boy on June 10, a boy on June 10 that will be our first child, and a boy on June 10 that will be our first child and is carrying on his father's family tradition of having a large head, so yes, as a matter of fact, I am nervous.

The irony, I have found, is that people seem to regard pregnant people with either interest (I choose to believe it's my sexy waddle that's so fascinating) or total disdain (probably because they can't waddle with such sexiness themselves). I hadn't really noticed this before because I don't go out much these days -- I spend most of my time trying to assemble baby gear, crying because I can't assemble the baby gear, and posing stuffed bears as test subjects in the baby gear after Chris comes home and rescues me from a meltdown and the baby gear from wherever I have attempted to hurl it. (I really hope Collin inherits his patience.)

Anyway, after spending most of the day napping and/or tidying up the house (more the former than the latter), I decided to run some errands this evening. I really wanted to stay home and watch "America's Next Top Model" on my couch (the only place I'm really comfortable, which is sad considering how much we spent on our next-generation, memory-foam blah blah blah mattress) but we were out of chocolate milk and grapes, so I had no choice but to leave the house. After all, it's for the good of the child.

And here's what I learned: Being extremely pregnant seems to give tacit permission for the general public to take notice of you (and your waddle). I can't just slink around anymore.

My first stop was Paper Zone to get more envelopes for my work shower thank-you notes. I stood at the cash register for about 10 years before a sales associate came strolling up, followed by a woman who had been asking her a question. The woman butted right in front of me and slapped her stack of (ugly yellow) paper down on the counter. Normally I wouldn't care that much, but I had been there forever and my back hurt (big shock), so I kind of half-turned and said, "I've been waiting." The woman looked me up and down (i.e. zoomed in on my pregnant form), sneered, and said, "So have I." Liar much? I was less than amused that not only did the associate ring her up first, but she continued to glower at me the entire time she was standing there.

From there, I headed off to Costco, where I cheered up a little upon being asked twice when I was due by very friendly (not glaring) employees, including one in produce who went out of his way to inquire as to whether my strawberries were fresh. However, I do have to admit that I feel pretty pathetic when I go to Bulkville these days -- since Chris is usually at work, I have to bring my mom (i.e. the same woman who has had a hip replacement and a double bypass) to lift anything over 10 pounds, which is pretty much everything except my beloved cans of pears and contact solution in a three-pack. And case in point, my entirely-too-nice mom came zooming down to meet me and assist in my loading of a case of vitamin water and 3 million baby wipes.

On the way home, I stopped at the Papa Murphy's by my house, which is not known for the most intelligent employees (most of them likely ate too much snowflake paste in kindergarten and now, in high school, have moved on to sniffing glue) and found out the special was a three-topping large for $10.99. It took me all of three seconds to remember that Chris wasn't home, so it would be just me and my pizza. Swoon. Anyway, I asked how much extra it would be to get a half-and-half option (what can I say; I'm pregnant and indecisive), and to my total surprise, the very nice kid making the pizzas said that while there is usually an extra charge, he could tell I was "a special person" (insert glance at my stomach) and he'd hook me up, and by the way, was I having a boy or a girl?

Now, several hours later, I'm full of fabulous pizza (and no, I did not eat it all; I shared with Chris when he got home) and a virgin margarita I made ... and promptly spilled a third of next to the couch, so in this case, a little irritation and a lot of pathetic goes a long way ... or at least in the direction of the kitchen.

Maybe I'll even miss it a little when my 34 days are up and I once more am walking like a normal human being.

:::looks down at lime juice seeping into the carpet:::

Or not.