Okay, I am now firmly in the third trimester. Twelve weeks to go. Eighty-four days.
Kicking off the third trimester by getting my hair did and my toes done was a good way to start. If you’re going to be a hot mess, you might as well do it without weeks of grow-out and tree-climbers for toe nails.
Its pretty unbelievable that in just three short months, we will likely have a newborn on our hands. I don’t know about other expecting moms, but I honestly feel like the time can’t go fast enough. I can’t wait to meet this baby.
I have dreams about her, and she’s awesome.
In all my dreams about Baby Dub, somehow I get to have her without actually having to HAVE her… you know, without pushing her out. In one dream, she came very early, and I was at school, and my parents just brought her to me from the hospital. In another dream, my cousin was the one who pushed her out… dream MAGIC!
You might jump to the conclusion that I’m blocking the labor experience from my dreams because I’m afraid of it.
But when I think about labor, I’m not really scared, or nervous, or worried about my pain tolerance.
Five years ago, I broke my neck in a car accident. I’ve felt some pain. I’m not stressin’ about pain tolerance.
And I’m not really afraid of what kind of animal will emerge when I experience the pain of labor. In the emergency room after my accident, I smiled on the stretcher so my sister could take a picture of me and send it to my parents so they wouldn’t worry. I’m more of an entertainer than a filter-free screaming swearing b**** pregnant person.
And I’m not afraid to take the pain meds. Epidural it up. Ooo-OOOOOH!
Bring it on, Third Trimester. I am about to own the final stages of brewing up this baby.