This is an undertaking of epic proportions.
We bought a portable dishwasher for our apartment for our first anniversary, and we like joke that it was one of the things that saved our marriage (that first bit of married life was a hard bit for us - we had never lived in the same city/state/country before getting married!) (That makes us sound like a mail-order couple or something. We just lived far apart.). You see, we had this agreement that I would cook dinner and he would do the dishes after. Ideal, if you ask me. I love cooking, and I hate the soaking scraping wiping aftermath. But. The Bubba is an engineer of the very first anal-retentivest nature. He starts the dishes by sorting. Each dish will be lined up according to color and then size and then shape and then amount of washing attention needed. And only then will the washing begin. Oh and the stacking/drying process! Whole 'nother bag.
Not that I'm complaining. I'm so totally okay with the fact that he has a different way of doing things. It just means that I won't see him until 10pm. And it doesn't mean I can't make fun, right? Because really, without taking the piss, where would marriages be, I ask you.
Next time I'll tell you about how he alphabetizes the garbage.
(Can you tell that the Bubba's on furlough this week? We've been spending lots of quality time together.)
We took the Christmas tree down this week and most of the decorations. We left up the little artificial tree for the Epiphany. I think I'll do a king's cake with Lucy this year. Although, every year I say I want to do a king's cake just like every year I want to throw a beaujolais nouveau party and it is never done. I have found in my vast experience with myself that I am fabulous at coming up with fun ideas and just very very poor at finding the motivation to execute them. Lazy.
I saw the midwife today. It was glucose test week, that most looked-forward to of all weeks. Mmmm, delicious. The midwives in my practice must have all been on vacation this week because the office was echoey-empty and the only midwife there was one I hadn't met before and didn't particularly, um, love. But whatever. I don't have to take her home to live with me, right? She was very smart and efficient. She was not a good listener, though. The whole time I kept wondering if I was maybe the only patient in all day because she seemed to just be waiting for her turn to talk the whole time (and not about my baby. About Christmas with her granddaughter including every gift she bought and why.). She didn't even bother with the frivolity of introducing herself when she came in. It was just weird because all the other midwives in the practice are basically on my running list of acceptable sister-wives.
My weight gain in the last six weeks surprised me. After being so focused on the numbers on the scale going down after Lucy's birth, it's so hard to be excited about them creeping (or in my case jumping) up. But this midwife did win points by telling me that Bidou seems to be a big baby, and since I came to the appointment with my pre-pregnancy jeans on with a hair band through the button hole, she said not to worry too much about it and just to be sure I was eating smart. (So I came home and ate fatty-fat-fat-sausage stuffing and Christmas candy to celebrate, of course.)
Bidou's heartbeat was at 148, and he's measuring "at least" two weeks big. I explained to the midwife that I have a long, skinny husband, and all the evidence I have heretofore collected says that we make long, skinny babies.
That reminds me. Bidou does this thing lately where he will curl up in only one side of my tummy. My stomach will have a huge right side and then a hollow little slope down the left side and then he'll do this roll-jump thing to take up his whole space again. It's like he's practicing his hunker-spring Crouching Dragon moves. Super weird. That and this kick-punch-punch thing he does I find really exciting. It's like he's a little human in there or something.
We shall see! Sooner rather than later, too. I start seeing the midwives every 4 weeks now that I'm starting my third trimester!
Dun dun duuuuuuuun. The end is near. And yet. So. Very. Far.
We're to the very complainy part of pregnancy. The part where I get heartburn from just looking at food. The part where I'm finding it increasingly hard to fall asleep at night and then sleep through the night. Oh, and my stomach and small intestine and such that's all smashing up into my ribcage gives me the worst crampy, charley-horsey feelings in my left ribs after I eat and/or when I'm lying on my left side. The lower back aches and the sacrum aches and the shooting pains that go from the lower back down the butt cheeks to the knees. All of those nice things.
And on that note, I bid you goodnight. It's almost 9pm after all. I've got my eye on my jammies and bed and my book (The City and The City by Mieville. Anyone reading that? It's really a trip.).