Waitin on Bae

You know what’s more fun than being full term with your third baby in the middle of August in Texas?

Everything.

Everything is more fun.

A lady passed me in the store yesterday and did a double take. “WHOA!!” she yells. “You must be due ANY SECOND.”

a) I am, yes. Thank you for making me feel beautiful and not at all like a terrifying mammoth of a human and
b) At least I’m having a baby. What’s in your belly?

Just kidding. That’s tacky.

But really. SO IS WHAT PEOPLE SAY TO A FULL TERM PREGNANT WOMAN.

What. in. the. heck.

It’s like the general public sees a fully expanded womb and loses all sense of normal human interaction.

Like the lady who guessed I was having a daughter, argued when I told her otherwise, then asked me to turn around so she could prove (based on my rear view) that I was carrying a girl.

I just don’t even know.

If I were brave enough, I would totally try 2 social experiments:

1. Make the pregnancy-related comments pregnant women receive to non-pregnant people. (No, ma’am, YOU turn around. Let’s rate how wide YOU are.)

2. Act like a small child as an adult. (Including, but not limited to, sprinting at the sight of food, throwing my body on the ground when Starbucks is out of lemon loaf, yelling about needing to poo poo, and confessing my distaste for a present someone has just given me.)

Wouldn’t that be awesome?

Have I mentioned that Beckett sings the “Love You Forever” song to my belly almost every day?

(Sorry to all who just perished from cuteness overload after that last sentence.)

That guy is ready to meet his brother. Hutton is just ready to play with the basketball under my shirt.

But nobody (NOBODY) is more ready than I am.

This past week has been spent making a lot of apologies.

Sorry I had to stand up abruptly in this room full of seated people. It’s 7pm, which is my de-panting/get horizontal hour. To spare everyone the shock of a naked pregnant body, I’ll opt to go vertical instead.
Yeah, I might have audibly tooted. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you, but I regret nothing. Something in this here body has got to give.
Sorry for holding my privates in public. You’d thank me if you know I was pushing my baby back in instead of birthing him on the bike aisle of your sports and outdoors store.
Did I elbow you out of the way? I’m sorry. It’s just that if I don’t go to the bathroom first…actually I’m not sorry. I really have to pee. Or give birth. Hard to tell the difference, really.

The point is this: I’m still 2 weeks from the official due date, but I am currently Googling medical emergencies that will make my OB want to induce me THIS AFTERNOON. Blurred vision? Fainting spells? Losing blood? Chest pains? Limb numbness?

If you can think of a surefire way to make today his birthday, hit me up.

And then I’ll see you tomorrow* on the interwebs when I’m holding my newest baby boy.

*or whenever God has planned for him to come out because his timing is best blah blah blah. (But if it’s not in the next few days, someone call a wam-bulance and keep me away from sharp objects or I’M GOING IN.)