Friday, February 10, 2017

T Minus 19 Days

19 days. 19 days until the Hobgoblin makes his appearance*.

I'm freaking out; I still have so much to do. Mr. Wolfman spent his days off doing stuff around the house - including really cleaning the kitchen and the main bathroom - and very thoughtfully setting up the computer so that I can actually use it for graphic design projects -

But he totally neglected everything that was actually on the list (the one he's been avoiding since August), like cleaning the car and installing the infant car seat. Or borrowing the carpet cleaner from work. Or any of the myriad of things that I'm too short/pregnant/exhausted to do on my own. I feel bad for being annoyed when he's working full time and still doing a lot of the housework and stuff, but damn. It doesn't help that his method of cleaning is very often to take everything that's in the area he's cleaning and put it in a neat pile - a neat pile somewhere that I've just finished cleaning. I cleaned the kitchen table, he "cleaned" the computer desk by piling everything on the kitchen table. I spent hours carefully arranging our bedroom (after months of nagging finally got us moved into our own bedroom) - he tidied the living room by piling a bunch of crap at the end of our bed.

On the topic of men driving me nuts, I don't know if the monster senses the big change is really, really close or what, but he's decided to suddenly start acting his age. Where before, we could leave him in the bathroom to pee, he now needs supervision (but wants privacy) or he'll throw toilet paper in the sink and run water on it, climb on the toilet to get at the medicine cabinet or just throw everything from the counter on the floor. Where we could leave his crayons sitting on the coffee table with paper for days, now he'll start drawing on the coffee table as soon as your back is turned. My front hallway is currently littered in coats because this ridiculously tall monkey has pulled them all off the hooks and thrown them on the floor. My living room floor is covered in receipts because he decided that spreading my budget folder everywhere would be a fun thing to do. And of course, this is all shit I have to bend over to pick up.

Then there's the issue of having some random OB who I'd never even heard of being the one that delivers me, but I think that's a blog for another day.

Anywho, the monster informs me that I'm all done typing, so I guess that's it for today.

*Assuming he comes on his EDD. I swear half of my birth board has already had their babies. March seems to be the month for early births.

Saturday, February 4, 2017

The Perfect Moment

3:00 am, with my hemorrhoid-ridden pregnant ass planted on a cheap footstool and my arm crushed in between the monster's head and his barn-board guardrail.

I realized, out of nowhere, how incredibly happy I was. Not because the monster has a nasty chest cough and needed me there, not because he wanted his mama and wouldn't let me go. But because I was able to be there, because my being there made a difference. Because that arm-numbing, chest-contorting, ass-paining contact let my little monster drift off to sleep, feel safe and understand fully just how loved he is.