I’m 36 weeks pregnant. Today.
I have a few thoughts.
But first, did I mention they threw me a “baby sprinkle?” Yes, yes. Proof. (MacDonald is my married name):
You see, this is what you get when you talk mad shit about baby sprinkles on your blog then get pregnant. It was supposed to be a “gender reveal” combined with a sprinkle but fortunately I’m “team green” so that was impossible.
If I live the rest of my life never uttering a sentence like that again, I will have succeeded.
Good lord.
I brought this on myself. I freak out online, talk endless shit, act like a smartass and have ridiculously, um, clear opinions. Even I would relish the opportunity to make fun of me.
Honestly, though, people know I’m just having fun. Despite what my hate mail indicates, I’m not a heartless bag against all cute shit, humanity and goodness. I like cute stuff too. Like puppies. And babies. Babies are cute. Usually.
Although, I must admit it was rather painful to repeatedly eek out the words “Are you coming to my sprinkle?” I even created a clever work-around by referring to it as a “non-shower shower” with the parenthetical: “no gifts.” Way more up my alley. But alas, I found myself saying “baby sprinkle” on a somewhat regular basis.
And people, there were sprinkles involved. There were lots of sprinkles involved. There were sprinkles on the invites and jars of sprinkles and sprinkles on the cupcakes and cookies dipped in, yes, sprinkles.
Here are the women involved with my demise: my sister-in-law Sara and my soul-sister, Cara Lyn. Here’s Sara, with a cookie, looking very smug and gorgeous, enjoying the excess of sprinkles:
And Cara Lyn, the lovely.
But she wouldn’t stop touching my belly, which pissed me off, so I flipped off the camera. Unknowingly, she did the same thing. SOUL SISTERS.
And of course, my mama, but I didn’t have any pictures of us together. Damn.
But she’s always there. For my whole life, those words are true.
It was one of the nicest parties anybody has ever thrown for me. Seriously I was blown away. It was all Pinterest-cute and matching and stuff. There was even BURLAP. And MASON JARS and big, bright daisies. There was so much thought and love and time and generosity – lots of people showed up, old friends and new ones and family. I was not sprinkled. I was showered.
(Would somebody please shoot me if I continue using these words?)
Not with gifts – with things that actually matter. For example, my husband in a cupcake apron.
It was a freaking wonderful day. My own personal ironic baby sprinkle.
And now, let’s talk about 36 weeks…
I’m at the point where turning over in bed is like a 5-minute ordeal.
To get out of bed, I have to sort of throw my legs over the edge with great force to create the momentum to lift my upper body. I know this because I do it 458 times a night.
There is nothing quite like the feeling of a head literally turning on your bladder.
The other day I read a post on Babycenter (Yes, I’m still a sadist lurking on “my birth board” for entertainment and a vague sense of impending doom) that said “34 weeks and I only gained 5 pounds!” It took all my power to write back: “I have an idea. How about you die?”
I didn’t mean that.
I totally fucking meant that.
I’ve gained 50 pounds. It’s at least 20 pounds baby and fluid. AT LEAST. I’m sure the other 30 will come off via breastfeeding.
Ha.ha.ha.
I am insane. I cry a lot. I yell a lot. I dreamed the other night about dragons, red-wine tasting and being chased by short, angry men.
I don’t sleep. Sleep is for fucking losers. I like to lie awake at 2am and think about things that I can’t change. Either that, or I hang out in this weird half-sleep place where I’m sort of still in my dream but sort of awake. If all that fails, I stay awake thinking how I’m generally failing my children – OMG my first is going to be 13 which means I only have FIVE EFFING YEARS LEFT WITH HER and that makes me want to die and I’m so short-tempered and distant lately and working and stuff but it’s going to get even worse because 4th baby and what the fuck were we even thinking as I sacrifice the good of my older kids for another baby and how do women do this why and for what? I’m ruining everything.
I do this for a couple hours until I realize I’m hungry. Then I fling my legs over the edge, pee, and eat some motherfucking almond butter. It’s super relaxing.
I love the 9th month of pregnancy.
I’m anemic. Very anemic, apparently. Eating lots of steak and spinach.
In other news, iron pills sure have pleasant side effects!
My stomach is approximately ¼ of an inch in diameter and 2 inches from my throat. I like it like that. Hope it stays there.
I enjoy approximately 75,000 Braxton Hicks contractions a day. They don’t hurt, but damn they’re weird. Consulting with a student: “Pardon me, but the largest organ in my body is currently tightening, shoving a baby head further down onto my bladder than it was before, reminding me that I should not be here talking to you, but rather nesting or some shit, preparing somehow for that head to leave my body. Anywho, your thesis statement is not an argument.”
I miss the ability to see my vagina. Not that I ever spent quality time gazing at her, but it was rather comforting to know that I had the option to at least SEE HER, you know, in a pinch.
We bought a carseat. Therefore, we are prepared for baby.
Also, don’t worry. The nursery is done. Here’s a photo. Do you like our theme?
I really want to get my house clean before the baby comes, but I’m way too pregnant to clean the house before the baby comes, so basically, the task I’m trying to accomplish before an event will only become possible after the event, which leaves me in a super ridiculous quandary.
I should probably stop thinking about it and go eat some molasses cookies. Molasses has iron.
Four more weeks, bitches.
***********
And hey, friends & peeps in the Portland area, I have a new sponsor for you.
Meet Jocelyn Brown of Borealis, licensed midwife and doula. Jocelyn provides at-home midwifery care and
in-hospital support (as a doula).
Normally I write a paragraph about sponsors, but I’m going to let Jocelyn speak for herself on this one:
“My take on birth in Portland is that we have so many great choices for birthing here, and what people need help with is making a plan they can be at peace with. I *love* home birth, and believe that it is safe, but no matter what, every woman should give birth where she believes *she* is safest and will have the best experience. And if that’s in the hospital or on even on the operating table, that’s where I’m going to support her.”
HOW FREAKING BADASS IS THAT?
“I also believe that the out-of-hospital care providers and the in-hospital care providers need to start supporting each other and not persecuting each other – delaying a needed home birth transport because a midwife is afraid of facing the hospital staff is incredibly stupid and dangerous, and just feeds back into the perception that home birth midwives don’t practice safely. Fortunately, there are a lot of people working on this process in Portland, both in and out of hospital. I’m constantly trying to educate clients about this.”
And just as good, when you’re in labor and call your husband a fucking douchecanoe, you KNOW Jocelyn won’t judge. Why? Because she reads this blog. BOOM.
Call her. Get supported. Birth.
Sara
Sunday, 4 May, 2014 at 10:12Love love LOOOOOOVE the nursery! I would call the theme “realistic and crowded”. Oh how I love you Janelle! I always look forward to reading your blog posts! And I also love to know that you’ve got a badass midwife! You’re in great hands! 🙂
Heidi
Sunday, 4 May, 2014 at 10:14Dude- you’re hot. I fuckin hate being pregnant. Four little weeks. Eat everything.
Tracey Lucas
Sunday, 4 May, 2014 at 10:48Wait. We are supposed to be able to see our vaginas?!? Well, shit. I haven’t been able to do that since Jr. High. Or my feet. Rack gets in the way. ; 0) oh ok. Now other stuff does too, but like you, I blame the children. Totally.
SPRINKLE! Now I get it. Damn I am slow lately. Another thing I blame on the kids.
Crazy amazing on the nursery theme. Our whole house is done in that motif. Again. The kids.
I sense a patern.
renegademama
Sunday, 4 May, 2014 at 12:35Well, I suppose it’s more my groin area. The actual vagina is pretty much not visible without a mirror. I just never want to miss the opportunity to say “vagina.” ya feel me?
itzybellababy
Sunday, 4 May, 2014 at 10:51Eggs! Eat more eggs! I gained 40 pounds. I had an almost 12 pound baby and lost 20 pounds the day I gave birth.. lol. Too bad I gained some back.
I hate all that weight measuring though. I mean, shut up lady who only gained 5 pounds. I hate your face. lol.
You keep smiling. You look so cute!
http://www.itzybellababy.com/
Siobhan
Sunday, 4 May, 2014 at 10:52You look amazing. Which is no small task when carrying 20lbs of baby (and 30lbs of almond butter) so kudos.
Good luck with the rest of your pregnancy. May you and your vagina be reunited shortly.
Jessie
Sunday, 4 May, 2014 at 11:41You rule!
Also, my fourth is now 8.5 months old and in encouragement I think having four is actually noticeably easier than having three. It’s certainly WAY fucking easier than having three and being very pregnant.
Lauren
Sunday, 4 May, 2014 at 12:24I’m right there with you – 35 weeks with baby #3. And I think we might be on the same BBC board, because I saw that post and wanted to strangle the bitch. I’ve already gained 50 pounds. And my nursery looks exactly like yours! 😉
Ash
Sunday, 4 May, 2014 at 12:29A) I can’t see my vagina, and I’m pretty sure I never have been able to without a mirror. This has never been a big problem, so I wouldn’t worry, pretty sure yours is still there. B) my house is pretty much all decorated in that theme, and I have no kids. I’m pretty sure I should be more embarrassed about that. My rule is, if it’s off the floor or out of sight, it’s not mess. C) I’m definitely over weight by at least 20 pounds. D) I didn’t have a classy Sprinkle this week and E) my husbands beard is not so big as yours.
Looks like you’re winning 😉
Corinne Knight
Sunday, 4 May, 2014 at 13:15Looking good Momma!
TOTALLY Pinteresty and shit! Atta girl.
I woulda used the word vag but ya know how much I love ya so why argue, ya know?
renegademama
Sunday, 4 May, 2014 at 13:18Vag is such a good word. Solid, reliable, slightly trashy. VAG.
Carrie
Sunday, 4 May, 2014 at 18:52This is freaking awesome. Thanks for sending me into a wheeze with your humor and realistic view of life. My pneumonia needed a good laugh. 5 homeschooled kids + mama with pneumonia = a couple of weeks off. Yeah right! Only my first had a nursery theme. Everyone else was “Hey look, a baby in our bed.”
Andi
Sunday, 4 May, 2014 at 22:39This blog is just swell. I feel as though i have a kindred. Thank you. Best of luck for hatching the human.
Julie Smith
Monday, 5 May, 2014 at 7:13You are a genius, seriously. I love the absolute realism of your blog. So refreshing (and inspiring, but I know you hate that word, so we’ll just stick with refreshing). The nursery part was my favorite 🙂
Kateri Von Steal
Monday, 5 May, 2014 at 7:27If I lived closer, I’d come over and clean your house. I remember the feeling of “I need to do this” and then I would look at the huge SPHERE that was my stomach, and my ankles would instantly swell 10x the normal swelling pregger leg size.. and I would just cry and sit down.
4 weeks.. JEEZ… Crazy fast!
your sprinkle seemed perfect!
And I love his apron.
tiffany han
Monday, 5 May, 2014 at 8:39Love this.
For the iron, try chelated iron – I got it at GNC. I was slightly anemic throughout my entire twin pregnancy and took that every single day and pretty much had the best poops of my life.
Since you totally needed to know about my poops. You’re welcome.
Jamie
Monday, 5 May, 2014 at 10:24Sometimes, I read your posts to feel human. At 38 weeks pregnant, human is a good goal. I read this one while teaching a room full of 8th graders. I peed a little trying not to laugh. Human again.
CLG
Monday, 5 May, 2014 at 10:27The nursery is my favorite…I feel like the Out of Africa theme is amazing, I will do the same thing if I ever get pregnant and have a kid. Let’s decorate some more!
Eleni
Monday, 5 May, 2014 at 13:38This may sound ridiculous, but not being American, I have to ask: what is a “doula”? And what services does she provide to expecting mothers? Because, being Greek, I can tell you that “doula” is a Greek word meaning, literally, “female slave” – so I’m a bit curious.
Tabitha
Friday, 23 May, 2014 at 1:02Doula is a word Americans have adopted to describe a labor attendant. They are there to serve the mother while she labors, and afterwards, sometimes for a few weeks postpartum to help the family transition to life with a new baby. In America, our labor and delivery system is often not very mother friendly so many women are hiring a doula to aid them in non medical in management.Hope that helps!
Tracy
Monday, 5 May, 2014 at 18:01I love this. I love the manly cupcake apron, the little bottles of sprinkles. These pregnancy posts make me wistful for that 3rd trimester and all of the hope and hell it held me in.
celeste
Tuesday, 6 May, 2014 at 6:21Is that a leash attached to the crib leg? Super hip idea! That’s getting pinned!
LisaC
Tuesday, 6 May, 2014 at 8:28No worries on not seeing the oldest. I was exactly where you are. She’s now 21, he’s 17, she’s 8 and baby is 5. And we see 21yr old all. the. time.
Our home is a crazy, scream filled house of love and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Congrats. You have awesome friends. Use the extra sprinkles in your pancakes, they’re delicious according to baby.
Dee
Tuesday, 6 May, 2014 at 10:42(Non-expert answer here for Eleni, love your name by the way) A Doula is a birth coach, someone who knows a lot about labor, and techniques to deal with labor, and supporting both the mother and father through the labor and recovery process. Often they are also lactation consultants or even trained midwives (in the case above).
Also, I almost tried to figure out how to call CPS on a lady on babycenter who was bragging/”giving advice” on how to keep her weight gain low. As in, I started at 135 lbs, and now weight #138 at 20 weeks. I don’t snack, eat sugar, and if I’m hungry between 8 am and 8 pm I just drink water. It took all I had to not scream “you’re starving your tiny little baby you self-absorbed freak” while at work!
Good luck these next few weeks!
Eleni
Wednesday, 7 May, 2014 at 5:42Dee, thank you so much for the clarification – that’s actually a really neat service. Here we just have certified midwives, who are mostly trained in the Western medical tradition. Thanks again!
Claire
Tuesday, 6 May, 2014 at 19:54Oh Janelle – thank you so much for sharing about this! I actually love those last weeks – we are at the height of our goddess-ness during that time. I soooo relate to everything you’ve written as I had my 4th last summer with my oldest being 13 – – its terrifying, but so great for the older kids to have that baby around. I hope you get some time to just be and do whatever you want during these last special weeks. Re: Iron. WTF Floridix changed its fucking recipe or something – did NOTHING for my Iron, the only thing that helped at all was Hemaplex. Good luck with that – I know birth professionals get really stressed out when the Iron levels are low.
Jenna
Wednesday, 7 May, 2014 at 6:33I’m glad that someone else is a glutton for punishment and still peeks in on that birthboard on Babycenter. I’m 35 weeks with #2 and saw the same post and wanted to throat punch my cat after reading that. But she’s pretty cute so I just ate 6 cookies instead.
It’s amazing how much one does not give a fuck about anything after their first baby. I have no idea what I haven’t done to get ready for this one. I guess I’ll figure it out when we get home and there are no diapers.
Sara Howard
Friday, 9 May, 2014 at 15:11Love!
Tani
Monday, 19 May, 2014 at 19:37Our first baby had some kind of matching crib sheet stuff. The other two had the exact same nursery theme you do. In fact the youngest is 7 and his room still looks like that except he finally stopped sleeping in the crib when he was 5. He is a crazy random Lego and Minecraft guy and he and Rocket sound like they would be good friends.
Hang in there!
Jayme May
Tuesday, 20 May, 2014 at 4:32I have finally found the parenting blog I was meant to be a part of. Thank you for making me feel like I’m NOT the wrong kind of Momma….and even if I am its fucking okay.
Jennifer Henry
Friday, 23 May, 2014 at 15:56You make me laugh. I actually mean that as a compliment. I am grateful for you.
Jendra
Sunday, 25 May, 2014 at 19:27Your nursery theme won my heart. Well played.
Tina
Tuesday, 17 June, 2014 at 14:03I know this is old, but I just found your website. You looked AMAZING at 36 weeks pregnant! My kids are older – 17 and 19 until their birthdays in December. I swear, back when I was pregnant, you couldn’t find ANYTHING that wasn’t very loose and billowy, and the designs were very original: solid color, polka dots, flowers, or bows. Or well, any of the four with BOWS ON IT. I resorted to buying normal clothes in a very large size and hoping I looked “okay” rather than frumpy because I was wearing HUGE dress to cover the ONE part of me that was huge. Luckily, I had a couple very basic things that I could rely on: long sweaters (I had December babies) and stretch/stirrup pants. So, big man’s shirt, stretch pants. Going to work? Big sweater, stirrup pants. Or one of the two plus sized dresses I found that had ties I could tie behind my back so that you could tell I had a normal sized body except for the baby belly.
Danni
Wednesday, 2 July, 2014 at 18:46just found this – LOVE it!!
my oldest was a few weeks short of 13 when the baby (now 6 was born) I discovered that handing a teenage boy a screaming colicky baby and stating “This is what unprotected sex gets you” was VERY effective birth control. I also was witness to a 16 yo and a toddler auguring – not fun. A teenage big tough guy holding his tiny sister’s hand and comforting her while they cast her broken arm. I got to see my big tough guy asleep in the rocker holding her after he rocked her to sleep while I was stuck at a stupid meeting.And I got to see him show her how to wear her baby dolls in a sling
some super memories – they keep me sane when I realize that instead of being done with parenting when the middle child (almost 12) moves out I have 12 MORE FRIGGEN YEARS!