The Baby Comes First

I've reached the point in my pregnancy where my belly enters the room before the rest of my body. The baby now literally comes first.

With B-Day quickly approaching, I realize that there's a lot no one tells you before you get pregnant. Like the fact that the "nine months" of pregnancy actually takes 40 weeks. Something's wrong there, right? Or the fact that along with the joy and excitement of anticipating a new baby comes one emotion only the most candid of moms-to-be will cop to -- sheer terror.

Michael and I are dealing with the stress of the unknown in our own ways. He's developed an obsession with shuffleboard and become exceedingly protective of me ("You can't bowl in your third trimester!").

I’m being self-indulgent, sleeping in 'til noon on weekends and buying cookies from every Girl Scout I see. And bowling in my third trimester if I damn well feel like it.

I'm also feeling far more escapist than usual. I recently tried to convince Michael to go on one last trip to Vegas before the baby comes, but he was having none of it. I tried the “It’s not like we’ll be in the middle of the desert” rationale. But he reminded me that we would, in fact, be in the middle of the desert. Then I tried “but it’ll make for such a good blog entry. I can title it ‘Vegas, baby. Vegas.’” He didn’t seem to feel that was sufficient reason to head off to Sin City, unborn child in tow.

I'd say it's just Michael being overly protective again. But in reality, I know he’s right. After all, the baby comes first.