Pregnancy Stage 8: Balloon Animal Girl

You know about pregnant feet? No? Let me show you.

No, nevermind, I can't. It's just too ugly. Normal, but ugly.

Suffice to say that three days ago I woke up with feet that looked and felt like pink fleshy balloons. The next day, I had balloon ankles to match. The only shoes I can get on are stretchy sandal wedges that barely stretch far enough to accomodate my clown feet.

I got a pedicure yesterday because all I can wear is sandals, but didn't want the pedicurist looking at my feet, so it was no fun. Sigh.

I'm getting bored and tired. I'm bored with being tired. I'm getting tired of complaining about all my minor ailments (chronic vicious heartburn, puff-daddy feet, disabling backpain....). I'm tired of walking like an Oompa Loompa...and kind of looking like one. I'm bored with picking out baby accoutrements and worrying if I am getting the right things, worrying about where it's all going to fit, and worrying about all the money we're spending to create the happiest (read: quietest) baby on the planet. Tired of waiting for and depending on Kevin to do things when I want to just do them myself to get it over with. I can't stain the furniture. I can't even walk to the grocery store. Yawn. Sigh.

Did I mention a sexless existence? Kevin is in Vegas, where prostitution is legal (I don't know why that suddenly fascinates me except that maybe if I were him, I'd be partaking right about now....) and I'm sitting alonein my style-free new rocker-recliner watching my stomach jump around.

Yet, the tummy jumping is something I know I'll miss when it's gone, replaced by the wrinkly, red, peeling, leaking, unconsolable creature with the giant cheeeks. So even though I'm on week 33 and can't imagine having to wait 7 or 8 more weeks (instead of my abbreviated 4 weeks), I am at least used to the little jumpy bean inside me and all the discomforts she brings. Not so sure I'm looking forward to the real life upheaval...and not totally looking forward to it, of course makes me feel guilty. A feeling that I am...altogether now.. .bored and tired of.

By request, here is a picture of the very nice cradle that someone from work lent us:

And here is a picture of the recliner...for which I'm buying an ebony or wine-colored slipcover as soon as the color swatches arrive (nothing in Babyville is easy if you want it to be affordable and in any color but pastel.)
In better news, Paris Hilton has to go to jail for 45 days, and because I'm feeling particularly vindicative this week toward tall, thin, blond, rich women who like to act stupid for attention, this cheered me up. Thanks Paris!