on your mark...get set...wait an indefinite amount of time.

Welp. 37 weeks. Here we are. You and me and a baby still cooking in my belly. Today I unsubscribed from Motherhood Maternity emails, which I'm sure cemented this gestational period as lasting until 152 weeks. I'm just done. I have zero maternity clothes on today, which means I have the underbelly of a fat alcoholic bald man. And I'm ok with that. I'm not going anywhere. 

The only labor signs I've had are all fake. The backaches and hip pain, cramping, nausea, over emotional states, and extreme anxiety about repotting my houseplants are just nothing. I figured out yesterday that I'm never going to have this baby. I'll be pregnant until the fat lady sings and the cows come home and until I can think of another cliche. Which will take forever because I'm too tired. 

Ollie is flipping and flopping around my uterus like a pinball. Left and right. High and low. He's well acquainted with my liver and my bladder. He's made friends. Plus it's warm in there. Why leave? 

I realize that pregnancies last 38-42 weeks. And that I technically have anywhere from 3-5 weeks left but holy cow. I didn't realize the 5 weeks part actually. Excuse me while I go cry. Do jumping jacks. Hold a seance. Eat a whole pineapple. Etcetera and so forth. Can you tell I'm getting desperate? 

Zero effort put forth towards my appearance. 

Lady is tired of being pregnant too. Also she gets the pillow when I'm done with it, right?