WAHHHHH

I do not do pregnant well. I don't like having to share my body with another person- I just don't! Not that I don't love my daughter- because I do- I just hate the limitations it places on a body. Literally. I can't lift what I used to. My back goes out if I twist the wrong way. I exhaust easily. I can't eat what I used to. I can't sleep the same hours I used to. I can't get as much done in a day. All of this adds up to one big headache- especially when you're not entirely moved out of your old place, but have to be by Saturday to avoid paying another month's rent.

Let me elaborate on this a little. So, despite the best of plans to move over a month's time into the new place, what wound up happening was a lot of moving in the beginning, a little in the middle, and a big chunk still to go at the end. It's not that there's a lot of physical moving to do, but there is a lot of trash to be dealt with and some cleaning to be done. I don't labor under any fantasy that I'll be getting my deposit back (not with my jackass landlord), but I am not a horrible person (or at least I hope not), so I am doing what I can. Today, I tackled the bedroom.

Now there's not much up there. A dresser, an end table, some clothes and odds and ends... and a bunch of junk. Problem is, Ms. Genius (yeah, that's me) didn't realize we didn't have trash bags anymore at the townhouse. So, in my state of pure brilliance, I chose to use old sheets I was getting rid of anyways to wrap the junk up in, and then drop it out the window next to the trash can. Here's the problem with this plan: trash is heavy, and windows are small. So while I was expediting the trash process, I was also killing my back. Smart, huh?

So I was almost done with all of this when I look down and see blood smeared all over my ankle. I had been working in the closet, where months earlier someone had stepped on a frame and cracked some glass, but I had never cleaned it up. It now appeared that one of those shards of glass was sticking out of my ankle. Lovely. So I wiped it off, and headed downstairs to breathe and transfer the trash from the patio into the garbage can. While standing in the living room, my ankles and feet began to itch, and wondering if the blood had started to drip again from my battle wounds, I glanced down. No, no blood. Just fleas. Like forty of them on each leg. Gross.

Then I headed out to the patio to finish things up. In my infinite wisdom, I had only calculated the ease (or what turned out to be a lack thereof) in dropping trash. I now found myself having to lift said heavy trash into the garbage can. In a show of what felt like Herculean strength but probably would have been quite easy for anyone else, I managed to stuff about 2/3 of the crap into the can. I smiled at my work, until I realized that the trash had already been taken away yesterday, and now the garbage can was full, with 1/3 of the junk from the bedroom lying about on the patio and even more trash inside waiting to go out. GREAT.

On the way home, as my body and mind settled from the adrenaline rush that comes from wanting to GET THE HELL OUT OF DODGE, my body was finally heard, and it was ANGRY. My back hurt tremendously, and I knew it was only going to get worse. On top of that, there was this intense pressure on my pelvic floor.

No, I had not gone into labor. Just clarifying. You may continue.

This pressure has been there for the past few days, but it was very prominent in that moment. As I mulled over the different sensations, I realized that my whole belly seemed a lot lower, and this, in combination with the spontaneous hardening and softening of the belly, plus sporadic pains therein, got me a little worried.

What does this mean? It means the baby has dropped. As in, she's making her way towards the vaginal canal so she can come out to play. Problem is, SHE'S NOT SUPPOSED TO YET! This functionally puts me on bed rest until I see the doctor next (a week from today). Unfortunately, in the midst of the final moving days, this benches me to the sidelines. Those of you who know me know that when crisis (or catastrophe) strikes, I like to be at the helm so this lack of control is enough to make me want to cry.

On the upside, baby is coming. I just hope she waits until after July 1st to make an appearance!