I am currently living this song, although I don’t look half this good.
Everyone has read this amazing email from Julia the Sorority Girl, right? Um, if you haven’t and you’re easily offended, let me just suggest that you avoid this. But if you enjoy a woman articulately spell out her expectations, then I would suggest you take a quick glance. I think about Julia often, yesterday in particular.
We have made the decision to room the two older boys together while we list and sell the house, leaving the baby in a room by himself. I am still unsure that this is the RIGHT decision, because everyone ends up getting shafted by the newbie kid and I’m all Well, THIS is a great way to start of resentment of a new sibling! but you know? We have no room. This is life. I guess.
So we spent a good amount of money on a loft/bunk bed that utilizes the boys’ existing beds (a twin over a full size) and we paid for the delivery and assembly because, HELLO, I’m eleventy frillion months pregnant.
Randomly, they called us mid-morning yesterday from outside of our home with the bed. That had not been scheduled or coordinated. And I offered to come home in just a mere hour to accept the delivery and facilitate the assembly, but they said this was an EXPRESS delivery and they’d be leaving town immediately. So we gave them access to our empty garage, where the bed still sits in boxes.
Agitated, I contacted Customer Service because, you know, STILL TOO PREGNANT TO ASSEMBLE A LOFT BED. I waited for a response, and then they responded. With a $50 store credit, if I choose to accept that gracious offering.
I basically looked like this.
“You bring this to me? To my table? THIS?”
And I thought, Man, I would hire Julia in a heartbeat to handle this for me right now.
I am just currently a level of tired that I didn’t believe was humanly possible. Just moving.. ANY movement, at all.. is just a herculean effort. One that brings a string of grunting and curse words because my belly? Is massive. I cannot sleep on my back because my vital organs fear collapse under the weight of my massive belly. Sleeping on my side is fine for about two hours at a stretch, but then my hips are all WTF, SARAH? and I have to adjust. I cry a lot at night.
I remember (vaguely) with Tony that I had the “nesting” phase about now, where I got a sudden break from the tired and was all LET’S DO ALL THE THINGS!, but.. I don’t think that’s happening this time around. The swelling? Is exhausting. Whereas the swollen feet were just a nighttime joy before, now I wake up with them swollen and by night, I can’t walk anymore. My fingers are swollen. MY GUMS ARE SWOLLEN. This child, man.
I am looking at another potential month of this. Which is fine. The end is in sight.
This is unrelated to anything, other than Bryan and I now spend several nights a week in bed by 9:00 and watching funny videos on YouTube. He showed me this one half-heartedly, thinking I wouldn’t find it funny, and then I almost wet my pants.
Lastly: Tony came to visit me in bed one evening (I had my feet up) and he was just giggly. I asked what he had been doing and he confessed that he was drawing. For his princess. Olivia. And I was all – cautiously – SAY WHAT NOW ABOUT THIS FLOOZY? and he admitted that Olivia was his princess and he was her prince.
(He drew her a ROCKET SHIP, for pete’s sake.)
I hissed at Bryan – who was supposed to be SUPERVISING THE CHILD, not allowing him to become betrothed through crayon – if he knew about this. Did he know about this Olivia child?
“Yeah, she’s the little blonde-headed girl,” he said, NONCHALANTLY.
“WHAT? Well.. is she cute?”
He looked at me blankly. “Yes, Sarah. She’s a total hottie AT FOUR YEARS OLD.”
That’s it. I’m just toast.