Too close

I think my eyes are too close together. I came to this unfortunate conclusion after I went swimming tonight and put some of my neighbor's goggles on. They immediately started trying to pull my eyes apart. I took them off, tried a few adjustments, and put them back on. Nope. No good. My eyes are definitely too close together since the flesh was nearly torn away from my face in an effort to see while I swim underwater (I can't open my eyes under water; never can and never will).

No, I have not had the baby. I have the sneaking suspicion that this baby would much rather sit squished in a ball in my gut than have to emerge from his warm bubble and hear me complaining about my grotesquely swollen ankles (picture tree stumps). Oh well. There are worse things, like having eyes that are too close together.

Dr. H

I think I hate my doctor. No. Scratch that. I know I hate my doctor. Yeah. Hate him bad. Needless to say, I had an appointment today. I went in hoping he would congratulate me on a pregnancy well-done, and end the misery that is pregnancy. He did quite the opposite actually. He took my blood pressure, felt the baby's head, measured my massive belly, and told me he would see me in a week.

"But doctor, I could be in full-blown labor and ready to deliver and stuff. Shouldn't you check more stuff out? I could be dilated to a 10 or something. Shouldn't we know?"
His response: "Have you had any contractions?"
Me: "Not really..."
Him: "Then you're not in labor. See you next week."

As I sat there, shaking with the absolute injustice of the whole thing, fury started to consume me. It became hard to breath, blindness overtook me, and the only coherent thought I had was how to destroy this abnormally tall man. I couldn't believe it. He wouldn't even check things out! And who was he? This man had never been pregnant! It's a power trip I tell you. Seriously. It's like playing god, telling people when they can or cannot have a baby. Sick and wrong. Twisted, really. I loathe him. And the only way I could think of to pay him back, besides giving him an absolute look of death, was to not see him in a week and to make it a little longer. That's right. I took some of the power back. This quack isn't going to tell me when to schedule.

And who let men go into this field anyway? They know absolutely nothing concerning the matter. There's really only so much you can learn from a book, the rest is based on personal experience. Never mind that my dad is a heart doctor and never has had a heart attack himself, completely different scenario. The bottom line is that this man is a horrible individual. As I was driving home, I kept trying to think of ways of how to get back at him. I thought about changing doctors last minute. I thought about stalking him and leaving hate notes on his windshield. I even went so far to think about somehow kidnapping his kids and holding them for ransom until he induced me. I haven't really come up with a solid game plan quite yet, but I'm pretty sure I'll know it when I hear it. Oooh, I hate him. And feel free to send me some ideas on ways to absolutely ruin his life. So long as I'm pregnant, the man should suffer.

Almost 37 weeks...

Muahaha! Now you have to have that frightening image ingrained into your memory. I suffer, you suffer. That's the way I operate. Most people have the decency to show their nasty prego bellies covered. Not I. I want you to feel the pain, the discomfort, and the sheer horror of seeing the truly grotesque, because really, pregnant bellies are disgusting. And yes, my belly button is sticking out and no, I do not cover it up with a bandaid or tape. I just don't really care that a protruding button makes you uncomfortable.

I'll tell you what, though. There has never been a time in my life when more people have wanted to discuss my weight and size. Someone asked me the other day if I was having twins. Another woman expressed to me that I should be careful. I'm getting too big and I still have a long way to go. I wanted to point out that it might feel like a lot longer to her after I rip her apart limb from limb, but I let it slide; I'll wait until after the baby is born and people are still asking me when I'm due to fully erupt. Another keen observer pointed out the other day, "Wow. You're really out there! I think I only gained 15 lbs in my pregnancy." Uh huh. Thanks lady. I'll be sure to leave that in my suicide note.

But I was thinking about how once you're pregnant, it's a like some kind of free for all to say whatever you want. I've gotten a lot of "You sure are getting big! I saw you just 4 weeks ago and you weren't nearly this big!" or "You sure do look uncomfortable. And it's only going to get worse." What I want to mention is that I don't look uncomfortable because I'm pregnant; I look uncomfortable because you're standing too close and I'm thinking how best to strangle you. I don't even know these people. At least my mom has the decency to try and cover up her weight inspection with some non-subtle remark about finding a new fat free candy or remarking how fun running can be. Seriously people. I don't point out your weight, no need to point out mine.

My Esophagus

I am currently listening to my neighbors' two little girls crying. It's nine o'clock in the morning and they are sitting in their pool, but are wanting their dad to turn the heat on. He has refused, and they have turned to moaning out, "Your own daughters..." or "Do you want us to turn into icicles?!" Keep in mind they are 4 and 7 and they are quite serious. Josh and I have found ourselves laughing hysterically at the constant stream of whine, since they are both in tears and have not yet considered just getting out of the pool to avoid how "freezing" it is. I'm pretty sure it isn't below 80 degrees.

In other important occurrences, Josh had waffles this morning and asked me if I also have a dry esophagus in the mornings, making it hard to swallow bready foods. I'm turning the question to you, since I only laughed in his face. But no, I do not have a dry esophagus in the morning or at any other time of the day. I suppose my body supplies enough esophagus juice to keep it properly moisturized.

I would also like to add that I saw pictures from my baby shower in Utah and I'm pretty disappointed in anyone and everyone who failed to mention to me that I resemble a water buffalo in a purple shirt. That hurts, people. I thought you were my friends and family, and true friends would always tell a person that he or she looks like a bloated buffalo. Either way, I guess it doesn't matter since I have one more month of looking bloated and buffalo-like, and then I can start starving myself to prepare for my brother's wedding. My goal is to look only three times the size of his wife.

Average

I've been in Utah for a while and it was awesome. I'd give you (whoever 'you' is/are/whatever-is-grammatically-correct...) a rundown, but that would take a lot of time and I'm too busy doing other stuff like not folding laundry and not putting dishes in the dishwasher (did I ever tell you that I had once made a promise to never leave dishes in the sink once I had a dishwasher? Let's just call it being naive...). Just know that it was all I ever dreamed of and more. Yeah. Magical.

Now, on to more pressing issues like how I can manage to punch a patient in the face without actually getting arrested...

It occurred to me today that the average human being is a complete moron when I was confronted by an average human being at work. This average human being had been in the orthodontic office not two weeks ago when I met with her and helped her through her contract and fee estimate. She had signed everything and was walked through all the details -insurance agreements, possible additional charges, etc.- and seemed to grasp the general idea of it all. Well, apparently not, since she walked back in today and notified me that she would be unable to pay the treatment fee but was still interested in starting treatment. I sat there, confused (being an average human being myself entitles me to such moments of absolute confusion), and trying to grasp the true meaning of what she was saying. She explained to me again, that she would be unable to afford what we had quoted her for treatment, but that she was still planning on coming in for the appointment to get her braces on. I was still stupefied, and so I told her I would have to get back to her. Her reply: "Okay, but try calling after 1pm. I have a massage right before then." She then proceeded to drive away in her brand new car (no kidding; the license was still the dealership one).

Now, I may be average but I have a pretty good idea that massages and new cars cost money. After stewing in my own bewilderment, I concluded that we could not give her braces for free and I will tell her promptly after she is done with her massage. After I punch her in the face, that is. I smart.

House Hunters

After watching at least 5,000 hours of House Hunters, Josh and I have learned several things.

1. In order to properly view a potential house for purchase, one must thoroughly criticise the paint color, light fixtures, flooring, and any other possible thing that the previous owner might have considered 'tasteful' or 'personal.' You must constantly say things like, "This room is hideous! Who lives here? Cavemen?!" You ignore the fact that the previous owner has feelings and might be watching your careful evaluation of their beloved former home, and continue to remark how only the truly insane would consider painting a living room yellow.
   
2. It is only natural when buying a house in the price range of $65,000 to expect a finished basement, granite countertops, all stainless steel appliances, real hardwood flooring, large/luxurious master bedroom, and a manservant who waits on you. Oh, and if the space is less than 2000 square feet, that obviously won't do, since you most definitely need some kind of spare bedroom for when your 30-something year old son or daughter moves back in with you, because they need a little bit of breathing room when it comes to their finances (aka they're in serious debt from all the chain smoking).
3. Josh is gay. We realized this after seeing episode after episode (we have busy evenings, obviously) where the man would continually point out his need for a 'man cave.' What goes on or in a man cave, no one knows, but since Josh blatantly admitted to never needing this mysterious 'man cave,' we ultimately had to face the music that he is gay. He was sort of sad about it at first, but once I told him he no longer had to pretend to care about the NFL, he perked up.
4. In order to appear on House Hunters, you must first prove to be completely ridiculous. You must say things like, "I've just outgrown this space" when living as a single person in a 2 bed 2 bath condo with 3000 square feet. Or you must complain that your current living situation does not allow for you to entertain dinner guests, and upon buying your new home, you prove to all of America that you are now able to entertain you and your one friend. Unfortunately, you come to realize that it wasn't the space that was keeping you from entertaining friends and family... it was just you and your lack-luster personality. But at least you have a large dining area now.
5. Being one of the real estate agents on House Hunters is a lot like being cheerleader. When a client points out the carpet being eaten by weavel, you point out the great view of the backyard. When a client happens to notice there's a hole the size of a cannon ball in the ceiling, you call it a 'laundry shoot.' And when a client is able to remark on the blood splatteres and, "I'm coming back for you" smeared in blood on the wall, you call the former owners 'artists' or 'individualists.' You have to cheer for the good points, and ignore everything else.
   

30 weeks

You might be wondering why I'm posting a picture of me in my big blue scrubs, with my hair in a greasy bun, with a message, 'It's a boy!' tattooed across my baby bulge. I sort of am too. And I'm sort of wondering why I even have this picture, except that I'm not wondering because I really do know why I have this picture. A friend is throwing me a baby shower and decided it would be 'such a cute idea' to have a picture of me and all my big blue glory on the invitation. Only problem (besides it being an absolutely awful idea), is that she got this idea while I was working and needed to get the invitations out, according to her, "two weeks in advance!" Uh huh. So this is where I come in. She comes to my work unannounced, with a camera in hand, and pulls me outside, where she starts taking pictures. I might look pretty docile, but I was livid. And had she not be doing something very kind and generous for me in the first place, I might have screamed obscenities at her and run myself into oncoming traffic. But I didn't do either, and this is what the end result was. Luckily, she couldn't quite figure out how to get the picture on the invitation and it never worked out. Please sense my disappointment.

But in tribute to her efforts, and since everyone is practically salivating for a picture of the mongo woman (it's like one of those train wreck photos; moderately horrifying, but unable to look away), I am letting the world see me for what I am. A big, beautiful, blue-smurf woman. Josh is a lucky guy.