Remember that time I got pregnant and stopped updating the Procrastination Salon? Since firing this thing up, I've managed to procrastinate fairly regularly through all kinds of things—dissertating, job searches, new jobs, new relationships, what have you—but a semester spent gestating another creature proved too much. I don't have anything to say for myself. I'm just popping in to remind myself what it feels like to type here.
The gestating? It's going great. I'm exactly 10 weeks away from the projected date of expulsion. The relentless nausea abated a few weeks back, and futurebaby's very squirmy and thumpy, which is fun. Around us, things have been self-destructing with a kind of comic regularity: the car did a bunch of stuff that cost a bunch of money; the kitchen sink stopped working, revealing deep-seated plumbing issues in the apartment; the cat developed a mean case of kidney stones, which required expensive x-rays and special new food that she refuses to eat and medicines that she refuses to take, and that has caused her to leak urine constantly (and, I believe, against my better and more generous judgment, willfully), so that the past two months have been predominantly spent on hands and knees with vinegar and paper towels trying to keep our domicile in some kind of habitable shape. Anyone out there know anything about feline physiology? Is this ever going to stop? Because at some point soon I'm going to have to give up the grossly pregnant Cinderella routine.
Last night I dreamt the baby's head kind of popped out through an opening at the top of my belly so it could have a look around, like I had a kangaroo pouch or something. I have no idea what it thought of the world I have to offer it.
Taught my last class for over a year last Monday. Final papers roll in next week. In the meantime, I have a few writing projects in progress, which means that I spend a lot of time staring at a computer screen wondering why I scheduled a series of writing deadlines to coincide with the end of my pregnancy. I suppose the symmetry of it made sense at some point. From the trenches, it is revealed to be a terrible idea.
So. In conclusion, here is a picture of me and Daisy Mae and the bump, trying to figure out if 10 weeks is a really long or really short amount of time to wait for something.