Expecting

Yesterday was Friday. It was Kyle’s last full week of daycare, and my last day to be alone at home. I had no plans, no appointments, no pressing errands. So I never left the house. I stayed in my pajamas until 2:15, when I finally showered. I got dressed just to watch Oprah (who taught me about various scams to avoid, thank you). I did make a few paperwork-related phone calls and I did some laundry, so I was a little bit productive.

I made up for my sloth today, though. Stewart had to go work on a project this morning and the backyard was wet from the sprinklers which meant I couldn’t just put Kyle out there to play, because when he rolls around in the mud I get imaginary hives. Somehow I gathered up some energy and together Kyle and I spent 3.5 hours out of the house. He was such a good boy during all of our errands that I was moved to make two frivolous purchases: prescription sunglasses for myself (because a $35 sports watch is NOT a good enough “push present”) and Vans shoes for Stew to match the ones that Kyle got for his birthday.

During all of this errand-running I paused for 35 minutes to let Kyle play in the germy kid-infested play area at the mall while I rested and drank a carton of milk to battle the heartburn I forgot to ward off by leaving the Tums at home. (Duh! Didn’t I learn this lesson last time?) Of course the mom sitting next to me started that age-old conversation: “When are you due?” To which there are so many tempting answers:

“What do you mean?” looking confused, because I’m not pregnant

“Oh, I’m not pregnant, it’s just a large abdominal tumor.”

“I had the baby last week. Thanks a lot.”

“Today! I think I’m having contractions right now, actually! Can I borrow your phone?”

But of course I didn’t screw with her. I just belched involuntarily and told her the truth. She was nice enough, and she had taken off her kid’s shoes, something that I think should be required in those play areas the way those kids romp around and stomp on each other. I am very judgemental of the parents who leave the kids’ shoes on. And the ones who give their kids bubble gum of all things.

So, blah, blah, we had the trite conversation about me having 2 boys 2 years apart, blah blah. When she got up and left she wished me good luck. And that was okay, too, because I’m feeling like I will need it.

Once Kyle and I got home it was naptime for both of us. Since then I’ve been moping around the house and reading blogs and eating and playing with Kyle and the 1,800 toys he felt the need to pull off the shelves. Why does he have 1,800 toys, anyway? I remember feeling toy inferiority complex when we would go to playdates at other kids’ houses because they all had so many toys to go around, and I thought we didn’t have enough. Which is ridiculous. More toys come every single day, if you count the stickers I bought at Walgreens this morning to keep him occupied while we were waiting in line at the bank. (See, I told you we were productive this morning.)

My point is: during this time of waiting, I had grand designs of getting everything just right in the house before the Big Day. I got pretty close. But you know what? I’m huge, I’m tired, and I’m ready to not be pregnant anymore. I can’t keep up with the daily messes, and I sure as hell can’t keep up with Kyle and his intentional clutterization of my house. I give up. I just want my dad to get here (through the rain and wind that looms over the east coast threatening his 4pm EST flight tomorrow), and for me to go into labor, so I can enjoy that feeling of taking a really big crap and losing 20 pounds in 3 days.