Well, Little Champ is about 4 lbs, 17 inches long, and he still doesn’t have a name.
My “nesting” instinct is reduced to online window shopping. It would be nice for me to start getting anxious about everything that still needs to be unpacked…but I am sooooo tired. It’s like I have gone into a first trimester relapse.
Still, I did manage to sort the master bedroom closet out and make it nice and pretty. And I got a stroller, car seat, two bases, and a Boppy pillow with cover for less than $50. Woot!
This week we got Woman Within in the mail, a catalog for plus-sized women’s clothing. It was addressed to the previous resident, whose name was blacked out with a Sharpie by the kind post people. Anyway, let me just say that it is not particularly comforting to receive such a catalogue when I am keenly aware of how much weight I have gained in the past few months. Also, “Woman Within”??! What sort of terrible name is that for a catalog for overweight or larger set women? You might as well tell your customers, “Don’t worry, you are still a woman on the inside. On the outside, however, well…”
I am thankful, at least, that the models in Woman Within are at least average-sized. And by an average-sized model, I don’t mean average. I mean a woman who is considered “plus-size” because she is a size 8 or 10. But of course, to be a model, she still has to be taller than average and have a waist that measures 10 inches shorter than her hips.
In other news, Henry has adopted a taste for flesh, attacking me with his claws psychotically while I was on merry my way to give him a kitty toy. I cite my recent facebook status:
Newborn? Teething? Terrible twos? Puberty? All that will be a PIECE OF CAKE after raising this bloodthirsty kitten. At least he doesn’t spray or pee on everything (knock on wood) and is adorable when he sleeps. Yes, this is unconditional love, I tell myself as I dress a bloody leg. No, I didn’t fall into a vat of barbed wire. I have a kitten who is going through a vampire phase.
Basically, here I was, exhausted, wanting to take a nap. So I decided to sleep in the living room so I could catch Henry using the toilet (yes, I am potty-training an animal. He has been using it pretty consistently, but I need to teach him the correct “squatting technique” so he doesn’t get his feet soiled. He is the stealthiest little bugger, though, so I am usually on high alert in an attempt to catch him before he finishes the deed).
I heard him scratching, which is what he does to the litter before he uses the toilet (we are at the stage where I have a litter box inside the toilet, to get him used to zee potty). So I sneak over to the bathroom. He’s not there. He was, instead, scratching a cardboard box. To distract him, I went to fetch him a toy that he could scratch and bite. On my way, he dive-bombed me, claws first, and my leg bled in a nice, steady stream.
I can’t even imagine how many times my poor baby has heard “NO Henry!” or “Ow!!!” while in utero. That, and Nirvana. I am already traumatizing my son, and he isn’t even born yet!
On a happier note, I had a very quick check up yesterday, and both the baby and me are doing quite well in the health department. My midwife, who looks like the blonde twin sister of Sally Field, tells me that my next appointment is in three weeks and is the “invasive exam.”
Invasive exam. Great. Now I am picturing what the Nazis did to Poland. Honestly, could we think of a better euphemism? Perhaps not. Do yourself a favor, don’t try looking for synonyms of “invasive”—and especially not ones of “invasion”—if you are about to get one of those types of exams.
Of course, my adorable midwife told me exactly what she would be doing during my exam, so it won’t be much of a surprise. What was surprising is how she was able to describe the procedure with such a perky countenance.
I can’t believe that I will be full term in less than 6 weeks! There is so much to do before my baby boy comes home!