Hashtag blessed.

I’m just feeling all the feels lately, and I’m guessing it’s mostly because I have miraculously somehow clawed my way out of the Pit of Vom where I had been barely existing for the past 5 months and now am standing loud and proud on top of Barf Mountain feeling like a billion bucks with just a little scenic view of Spew Stream burbling around nearby to keep things exciting. Compared to my non-pregnant self I probably am registering at like 45% function but after acclimating to something like 5% during the dark days, I seriously feel amazing. I also officially have come back to my pre-pregnancy weight! The time has come to migrate from Barf Mountain to the much more satisfying and comfortable Obesity Isle – where the rivers run with cheese and the the chip crumbs are a constant nuisance to bed mates.

Luckily my current bed mate has been conditioned to keep his gab shut about crumbs and other things thanks to the maniacal unpredictability of my seemingly limitless and tumultuous emotional spectrum out of a measure of self-preservation. I couldn’t ask to be sharing crunchy sheets with a better partner, and for this I am feeling just warm and fuzzy. And a little teary. And a little snuffly. Ok maybe just a touch ragey for absolutely no reason, but in a way I would like to think is adorable and non-threatening. Like a puppy trying to act tough. But in all honesty probably more like this:

Although it doesn’t help his cause when I say things like, “Oh mylanta Gates I am getting so large and feel so giant, I’m going to need you to pretend that’s not the case” and he responds with, “Yea your boobs are getting really huge”. RUDE and also RUDE. Although spot on.

The babies are definitely more than just little nausea inducing mythical microscopic assholes now. They weigh in at about 1 lb 7 oz and 1 lb 8 oz each and have very distinct movements. Baby A is nuzzling deep down in my crotchal region and is probably a little bit squished so seems much more relaxed than their constantly jiggling sibling Baby B, who is kicking it on the left side of my ute and flipped from breech to head down and seems to be an avid MMA fighter and champion hiccupper, and also was hilariously folded completely in half at our last ultrasound with its little feet right in its face. Babies’ heads are actually really close together, so I imagine them in there snuggled and friendly, but most likely are smacking the heck out of each other and are already begging for their own rooms. We still haven’t peeked between their little chicken legs at our ultrasound visits but my official gender guess is….

Also just for fun, here are the two nuggets compared to big sissy around the same gestational age:

I feel absolutely massive and have caught myself waddling already and gasping for breath constantly which is extremely attractive. I also do a fair amount of groaning and grunting when shifting positions. Or just with the effort of existing, in general. The Braxton Hicks this time around are also out of control and seem to occur constantly no matter my hydration status or activity level, landing me a few little late night stays in L&D land for monitoring. Here I am, super grumpy in the first pic after 3 hours of triage in the ED, and then in the second pic worn out and resigned to my fate of spending the night strapped to a monitor:

My cervix is not behaving the most properly but so far I have successfully evaded any and all attempts to plop me on bedrest like the Jabba the Hutt that I am. What the hell would I do on bedrest? How do people even handle it? It’s actually one of my biggest fears if only for the fact that I am the world’s WORST patient and can just imagine the conversations with myself where I would convince myself little by little that certain activities were fine until I  would eventually be running around hauling power tools out for projects and climbing trees to do a teeny bit of trimming and dragging corpses around and herding sheep, etc until my cervix eventually popped and limbs and fluids and sacs of all kinds started spewing forth with vengeance. Deep down I hope that the fear of really serious consequences could keep me strapped down to the mattress without even a little worm of disobedience sneaking into my brain but let’s just all say a little prayer that we never have to find out for certain. I’m really starting to grow fond of these little hot pockets, and I want them baking along until they have achieved maximum crispiness, and despite what the pregnancy websites might announce, getting to week 25 is definitely not enough crisping to my liking.

“Viable”. A week that is such a celebrated milestone for pregnancy, and yet so certainly not an indication of the health and wellness of a gestating bug. Maybe I’ve just seen too much from the other side of the curtain or read too many heartbreaking stories but this particular “milestone” is not one I’ll be too quick to rah rah sis boom bah for. Right up there with my fear of bedrest is my fear of wrinkly little preemie babies and the enormous struggles they have to endure from day one. I don’t know if I am built of the right stuff to have to watch something so tiny and fragile that I love so much suffer and fight. I know just like anything in life there is no other option, people in whatever situation they find themselves in just DO what needs to be done without hemming and hawing and they just DEAL with the situation and that’s that. But I’m just not ready. Please keep cooking my little nuggets. Actually, you are grounded to your womb until further notice. That should do it.

In the meantime, I will crank out as many projects and nesty-like preparations as quickly as possible in anticipation of an arrival of babies that doesn’t quite jive with my own plans. RIP to our newly decorated guest room and hello to baby central on the first floor. On the second floor I’ve got someone’s curbside crib garbage cleaned up and repainted a distressed white, and in our bedroom a Pack n Play just awaits two little swaddled papooses. After a massive amount of procrastination I finally got around to going through all of our newborn and infant clothes and getting everything sorted and organized. It’s actually sickening how much stuff we’ve accumulated in the past 2 years just with Olivia, and I am hoping we can really keep the further collection of baby crap to a minimum with the new bugs. It’s just too much stuff! Yet I keep hitting rummage sales and the Facebook Marketplace like a woman possessed. Make it stop. Please send help.

This summer continues to just fly by without any regard for my personal preferences aka stay warm forever so that my toddler can run around like a crazy person outside and wear herself out enough to nap which is THE BEST. But on the other claw I am certainly excited for fall and football season, and I’m guessing my undercarriage and general slothiness will sigh some relief when the temperatures wane a smidge. We’ve been packing in everything we could possibly pack into every possible minute of every possible day in the final few weeks of the season: Wisconsin State Fair (hellllllo Turducken), the Kenosha Harbor Market, Bayview farmer’s market, playgrounds galore, extravagant Pinterest perfect infant birthday parties (including one where I got to flop around in a bouncy house whilst OG whizzed around like a psychotic cricket), pool days, park days, zoo days, fantasy football draft parties, trips with friends up north, festivals, Brewer games, donating money to the local Native American tribe aka feeding my slot addiction, dinners out, dinners in, celebrating our anniversary, taking family photos, and somehow fitting in the inane amount of medical visits the ol’ twinnies demand. Not to mention cinching up the belt buckle a little on the purse strings to pay all the medical bills. Did you know that they charge per fetus for each ultrasound? Just delightful.

Up next, Packer games, a big Badger tailgate, a baptism, throwing ourselves a diaper party/excuse to have a Nacho bar, and we banish Olivia to the northwoods to let Nana and Papa chase her through the forest for a week while me and old Papa Bear do a deep tidy up of the homestead for imminent chaos arriving soon in the form of 2 screechy raisins. We’ve still got a whole list of projects to tick off the list in preparation for our instafamily’s major growth spurt and then when that’s all said and done we can relax? LOL kidding, the fun just never stops and neither do we. Although I’m pretty sure when D-Day slaps us in the face we will have to put on the brakes for at least a few days, but who knows? I mean just how difficult can 2 little newborns and a toddler be?

Also:

Oh and also, guess what, if you whine a little online about having a  meltdown and crying in your car when you get a very specific craving and go to 3 separate stores in search of said item and then are all randomly out that the next day boxes of the item will magically appear on your doorstep because your friends are the FREAKING BEST?

Carb heaven.

And one last thing… Remember this game? LOL.

EEK!!!