http://www.buzzfeed.com/mattbellassai/the-creepiest-things-a-child-has-ever-said-to-a-parent


He was being sweet! I've seriously said this to Eugenio. I'm 28. Is it still creepy?

"I would help you but I have to play," Eugenio said last night. He was really sincere about it too, which made me laugh. He then added, "but I'll rub your back when we watch the movie." I wasn't expecting his help anyway. We never assembly line the dish situation.

Last week on his day to do the dishes he was also on call. After eating, he looked at me and said, "I have some business to attend and then I will do the dishes." I knew he said this to assuage my inevitable seething over the lingering dishes, and I felt slightly guilty that he felt the need to explain this while he had work to do. I'm not that mean, gosh.

"Don't worry. Since you're on call tonight, I'll do the dishes."

He smiled, kissed me, then walked away to get down to business. 

Five minutes later I turned around and noticed, to my amusement, that the business he had to attend was playing his video game. I appreciate sly moves. I motioned for him to take off his headphones.

"Hey! I thought you had work to do. Like, you had to call some patients back." 

"No, I already did that earlier," he explained quickly before returning his attention to the screen.

I have some business to attend. 

I would help you but I have to play. (No longer mincing words.)

Writing these down to use later....

Everyone on the pregnancy forums that I follow -- lurk without ever posting -- seems absolutely miserable right now. I see complaints of swelling, insomnia, trouble breathing, constipation, body aches and pains, excessive weight gain, cavities, and general unhappiness along with the intense desire to get-this-baby-out-now! Before getting pregnant I heard pregnancy wasn't a cute and fun thing. I heeded the stories of misery.

But, hey, I know I'm an annoying asshole, but it hasn't been at all that bad! I actually like it. I'm happy. For the first time ever I'm not self conscious about the way my stomach looks in tight clothing or after eating lunch. It's nice to just let this belly/uterus hang on out. The exhaustion I spoke of a few weeks ago at the beginning of the third trimester was temporary. I have no real complaints. My feet swell a little from time to time, especially if I wear heals to work, but that happens to me normally. I've started a nightly routine of icing my ankles and feet to keep the edema at bay. Meanwhile, Eugenio rubs my back without the expectation of reciprocity. Poor pregnant me. I'm not experiencing any aches or pains. I'm still able to run about 30 miles a week (much slower than normal, obviously), which may be a contributing factor to how great I feel. A friend let me borrow her pregnancy support belt, and I have yet to open it. I don't completely understand what it's for, since I don't feel like anything needs support; everything is just there, growing comfortably. I never experienced the round ligament pain I was warned about by all my friends with kids. I've had it easy.

I am reminded of important transitional periods in life. In kindergarten the teacher admonished us about how much harder first grade would be. We needed to buck up. Bullshit. We learned to read and got stickers on our work.  In fifth grade, the nutty counselor gave us a speech about the perils of middle school. We would have our shoes stolen, be stuffed in lockers, and occasionally beat up by giant 8th graders -- get ready. While some of that was true, it wasn't nearly as bad as we prepared for. I kept my shoes and was only subjected to the endearing pet name "The Stupid White Girl" in gym class.  In high school, they warned about how tough college would be, how much more competition would abound and how crippled we would feel. We were about to be brought to our knees and no mercy would be granted. Kids sat in early morning lectures still drunk. There were classes I hardly attended in which I still received As. I didn't study engineering.

So, what I'm saying is, I'm a perfect human being unaffected by the woes of others. Suckas.

But seriously, my pregnancy has been super pleasant. I'm annoyingly happy. At night Eugenio and I take turns placing our hands on my belly to feel our baby squirming around. Yesterday while watching Mad Men, we embraced spontaneously during a commercial break, as we sometimes do because we are in love and gross, and I told him, "One day we are just going to burst," because that's how happy it feels.

Every pregnancy is different. I'm glad to be a lucky one escaping misery. There were people who didn't believe Beyonce carried her own baby and they especially didn't believe her after hearing her talk about it in her HBO documentary special, whatever it was, I didn't watch. They say she spoke of it oddly -- a little too lovingly and wistfully, as if it were pleasant, which is NOT POSSIBLE, UGH. I'm here to say, leave us alone. Me and Bey, we're just blessed. Get over it.

But really, pregnancy isn't all that shitty for everyone. So, yay! I sincerely hope I'm not speaking too soon. And good riddance if I am, right? Only three weeks until the babe's full-term! Six weeks until her due date. I'm excited about the prospect of seeing our baby finally, but I'm not ready for pregnancy to be over just yet. People warn that this is the calm before the storm and that postpartum hormones are insane. Please be another over sell.

I wish I could press pause. Time is going by way too fast. I'm slightly terrified of what's to come. I went to the hospital to pre-register this week and the lady entering my paperwork looked at me and said, "Does it freak you out that in less than two months you're going to be someone's mother?" A minute before we were talking about the gloomy, rainy weather and I added that I was happy with it since it was my day off and I was just going home to lay on the couch to watch Bravo. She had me pegged.

My days off go something like this: I wake up, spend an hour to an hour and a half actually waking up -- drinking coffee (not the whole cup, I pour out half, get off my back), eating a waffle with peanut butter, playing on the Internet -- then I go to the gym for about an hour or so, come home to play on the Internet some more while I eat my second breakfast, take a shower, spend about three to four hours getting dressed while watching TV, playing on the Internet, doing laundry, and then I eat lunch and finally go to the grocery store or run whatever one errand was on my to do list for that day. When I get home, I'm absolutely exhausted.

I've babysat babies and small children before so I know that day is going to look a bit different when Felicity arrives. I'm not so much terrified by that prospect. It is what it is, and I know I'll survive. I've already planned that I can watch my shows while breast feeding. I'm prepared. LOL.

I am, however, increasingly burdened about how I will possibly get this baby from my uterus to the outside world. I have my calm, collected moments where I'm like, "It will happen. Women have done it from the beginning of time. I can too." But as time approaches my moments are becoming more like, "Can't I just throw her up? That sounds much easier." I was bulimic for thirteen years and I managed to purge the impossible -- I was the best there ever was! -- so I'm fairly confident in my ability to purge a seven-or-so pound baby through my esophagus. I always thought bulimics would make the best competitive eaters. Replace all those beefy men with long-time bulimics and world records would be broken, I'm sure. Another side-note to that side-note, I've meant to write something about my eating disordered past for some time, but it's also like, I'm just amazed that I made it out alive so I don't even want to look back. Perhaps this weird paragraph about throwing up my baby is all I'll ever say about that bygone time in my life, but for what it's worth, recovery is possible. I used to think it was going to kill me or I was going to die a bulimic, like I was going to still be binging and purging as a little old lady, hobbling with my rocker to the toilet after I'd devoured everything in my kitchen. I'm still amazed that I made it out. And I've come full circle and found a purpose to all those years with my head in the toilet -- giving birth. If only it worked that way! This post has taken a morbid, twisted turn. My apologies.

THE POINT IS, I'm not as confident in the nether regions of my body. Logically, I know it's possible, but I still clench up when I think about it too much, especially when I hear about tearing and stitches. But, OK, I'm taking the attitude of, "This too shall pass." I know preparation sounds like a good plan, but I honestly don't care to hear about hypnotism or the Bradley method or Lamaze or whatever mind-trick worked/didn't work for so-and-so. I can't sit through a yoga class; I'm not going to listen to any child birth voodoo CDs. I am, however, going to a Lamaze class, because it's mandatory by a program I enrolled in through my insurance. I enrolled in the program to take all the How-To-Keep-Your-Child-Alive classes for free, as opposed to paying over $200. I know nothing. My youngest nephew is five, so it's been a long time since I've held a baby. A representative calls me once every two months to ask me the same questions, making sure I'm not shooting up or binge drinking, and in turn I take the classes for free. We'll see how helpful this birth prep class is. I'll try not to be so cynical, but don't act like I can be trained like a dog. YOU DON'T KNOW ME, SIT DOWN!

I've had several people say, "Oh! You're so active. I bet you'll have a fast labor." Sadly, there's no such trade-off. I acknowledge that I have had an incredibly easy pregnancy. My rings still fit. My biggest complaint is the size of my tits. What comes after DDD? I don't even want to know so I've given up and I'm wearing a bra you can purchase in a box from your local drug store. (Yes, the Genie Bra. It's ugly as shit but it sure is comfy. That would be my contribution to the infomercial.) I have a feeling that the real trade off is about to be made -- easy pregnancy meet death, or easy pregnancy meet demon child. Just kidding, Felicity will be an angel as all children are. ; D