Wanderlust

The 100th Day

It's official- only 100 days more of pregnancy to go! This still seems like a morbidly long time, but considering Owen is still growing lungs in there, I'm reluctant to encourage his immediate exit. So onward we go. And as we approach ever nearer the marker of my 30th birthday (November 6th) and the end of fun as I know it, I have to admit feeling a bit sorry for myself. 30 and pregnant. Gee, I always thought I'd have more done by now.

I've finally started to write a book for real. No, you can't see it. I figured I might be dead at any moment now, so it seemed silly to wait for an idea. I'll just start writing crap. I'm confident that's what Hemingway did. Sat down, drank a bottle of tequila and thought... what nonsencial bullshit should I spew today? I am, of course, snobbishly drinking vanilla chai in this scenario in place of the tequila. I do put worms in it for authenticity and inspiration, though.

I've also begun to accept that I may never actually ENJOY being pregnant. I'm grateful our societal views have evolved enough for me to be able to say that being an incubator for nine months and sacrificing your health and any good looks you may still have to carry around another person in your stomach sucks. Don't let anyone try to convinice you of anything different. There. I only feel somewhat guilty and enormously sure that I've shocked at least one of my older relatives. I also feel lucky that I'm not republican so I can say I hate being pregnant and still love Owen at the same time. I hate this war but support the troops. Is your head spinning yet?

Thank you, thank you to all the parents and family who have sent their gifts already for the shower. I am happily drowning in baby clothes. We could, however, really use some help with our baby registry. We are isolated from family and friends and live in Utah, were the Mormons have ten kids and the hand me downs never make it past number six. And since this is our first, I don't have ANY of this crap, all of which seems depressingly necessary (except maybe that huge baby pillow). When a yard sale lists baby items in the paper, mothers to be start camping out on your doorstep the night before. I am serious. This is the land of yard sale freaks. I've seen garage sale classifieds that say "early birds will be stoned to death."

We'll still have the shower gift opening ceremonies on November 1st, although it is doubtful that we'll be able to do it live via the webcam because George assures me that the feed would get so slow it would be like committing technological suicide to try to watch it. We'll probably just post pics and let you decide if you want to endure the drudgery. But gifts are needed, welcomed and rejoiced over. And you can send a gift for the baby in lieu of a gift for me for my birthday. Because I've also accepted that motherhood means you'll never get another Christmas or birthday gift that's REALLY for you again. Not unless you wrap it yourself.