Rex, Rocky, Vivi, and Billy                                                                            

30 down, 10 to go.

30 down, 10 to go.

Guys.  I am 30 weeks pregnant this week.  Cue the fucking Duck Boats, would ya?  I mean it's kind of the home stretch?  Right? 

I am currently wavering between "Get this fucker the fuck out of me!" and "Holy shit, stay in there forever because I can't possibly handle one more child!"  It's nice because those two contradictory feelings don't produce any anxiety.  I am really calm and cool and together and great. 

And physically things are going well.  I was warned early on that being pregnant for a third time in a short-ish span of time would cause some issues.   Something about stretched out muscles and whatever.  So far it's been nausea, and then exhaustion, and then over-heating, and not really sleeping, and now #triplefatvagina, weird muscle spasms, pressure, and just some overall discomfort all the time.  A couple of days ago an Amazon package arrived on my doorstep containing cream and body wash specifically targeting butt acne.  I asked Matt.  He said he ordered it for me.  It really is the little things, ladies.  Am I right?!

One upside for this 36A is that I finally got a pair of ta-tas.  Rex actually laid in bed with me a week ago and put his hand on my belly and said, "Mom, you are getting a watermelon belly!"  I know, bud!  It's the baby!  Then his hand slowly moved up and rested on my boob.  "I just really can't believe how big these things are getting!"  Oh hell yeah, you can't!  Mama's got herself some knockers for a couple months!  But don't worry, any level of confidence that may be achieved by this temporary upgrade is quickly canceled out by the dessert plate sized nipples and stretch marks.  Still, I'll take a win where I can get it.

And this whole summer thing is new to me.  I had Rex in June and Rocky in May and I will tell ya what, this July and August shit is another level.  All you ladies out there with late summer and early fall babies, tip uh the cap to ya!  I finally got my inner thighs to stop smelling like a ball sack by applying copious amounts of deodorant down there a couple times a day, but the exhaustion is real.  I actually need to be in the house, or at least partially submerged in some body of water.  Those are my only two options.  A couple of weeks ago I nearly passed out mid bug hunt.  Luckily Rex is a police officer, so I am confident he could have handled the situation, but still.

And can you believe it? After my two wonderfully perfect little boyfriends, God has blessed me with a little girl!  Oh wait, it wasn't divine intervention.  It was me reading books and doing specific sexual positions, on certain days, after chugging a cranberry concoction and shooting lemon juice up into my vaginal canal fifteen minutes before gametime.  Yeah.  And it worked.  And I am already broke.

Good news is, I have heard that going from one to two is more difficult than two to three.  If you disagree, shut up.  I am really hopeful that because I already feel completely screwed and out of control that the addition of my little #lemonsquirt will only add a little more crazy to an already insane situation.  That's logical, right?  I just need to teach Rex how to drive so he can grocery shop and get me Starbucks while I am nursing.

It's gunna get ugly, I know.  But c'mon, it's gunna be pretty great.  Especially if my butt acne clears up.

Twenty Weeks

Twenty Weeks