Mary Makes Babies

Curiosity, Clues, and a Baby Name Bonanza

It's kind of amazing how double-minded I am these days. On one hand, I feel like I am racing toward the finish line, desperately trying to get all of my ducks in a row before this baby arrives. I have a mountain of work to do, at home, on my blog, on my book, and also, of course, at WORK. I am going to need every day that this baby can spare me, so of course, OF COURSE, I'm in no hurry for Babeleo to make his/her appearance.

On the other hand, I look at pictures of babies and tear up. I spend gratuitous minutes sitting in the nursery, nuzzling tiny clothes, rubbing my belly and wondering how on Earth I'll endure the wait even one minute longer. I am really looking forward to meeting my baby. It's like trying to sleep on Christmas Eve for a whole month.

I'm also endlessly curious about this tiny little person hammering away at my insides. Is she a girl? Is he a boy? How big are they? Where exactly are they in there? Is this lump sticking out from under my ribs a foot or what? 

On Monday we were treated to a sampling of vague answers. The midwives at our birthing center are not without a sense of mystery. To be honest, I don't really know the difference between their style and how pregnancies are sometimes handled at other kinds of offices, but my bestie always gives me an earful after hearing my second-hand reports. 

This particular visit focused on Babeleo's position and the dilation of my cervix. Both things can serve as helpful clues in determining how soon the baby might decide to begin his little trip down birthing lane. Now like I said, I don't know jack when it comes to standard procedures, so when Melissa asked me how many centimeters dilated I was, she was truly annoyed at my response. "A fingertip? What the hell does that mean?" Then she asked how big the baby was. Crickets. "Well did you get any good pictures from the ultrasound?" I sheepishly admitted that they didn't print any for me. Melissa was beside herself.

(By the way, I found out how they check your cervix for dilation, and it wasn't the way I expected. It was much more personal. That is all.)

In an effort to comfort my poor harried bestie, I did a little bit of Googling. It turns out that the term "fingertip dilated" is actually pretty common, and means that I'm somewhere around a centimeter. I don't know if my midwife measured the actual baby during our ultrasound, but she did mention that my baby zone (uterus?) is measuring at exactly 36 weeks, so I'm GUESSING that means the baby is just about average size for 36 weeks, which according to the internet is around 6 lbs. 3 oz. 

So to sum up, we don't really know how big the baby is or when it's coming, but it's probably a normal size, and it's probably going to be a while. It IS in the right direction though (head down), and I found out what the lump under my ribs is - a baby butt!

The psychic's predictions of an early baby are losing ground. Hey science!

In other news, our midwife planted a fun little seed of doubt in our heads regarding baby names. "You know", she says, "sometimes the baby comes out and just doesn't look like the name you picked. Better come up with some backups just in case." 

The concept of backup baby names has generated some truly outlandish possibilities. I don't want to jinx them by spilling the beans, but think highlanders, vikings, and sci-fi. 

Good luck, baby. You've got one parent with preggo-brain, and one with an unhealthy affection for 80's/90's video games picking out backup names for you now. I promise I won't let your father name you Guile or Duke Nukem, but that's the best I can do.

Getting There (and building my labor mixtape)

Let me tell you something, people. I am a sweet potato powered locomotive chugging away toward my goals. This week I managed to book our doula, find a pediatrician, and get my pertussis vaccine. Boo yeah.

What's next? I still need to add the last few items to our baby bug-out bag, go shopping for the leftover stuff on our registry, and put together our labor playlist. 

Image by Kristian Bjornard

What's a labor playlist, you ask? Well, our midwives recommend putting together a long playlist of empowering music to help get us through labor. The idea is to help relax you during the early stages, then pump you up when it's time to start pushing. While some folks opt for the drumming and chanting sort of music for labor, I'm going to go ahead and take my yoga instructor's advice. 

"I've got news for you, girls," she said. "Enya is NOT going to help you push out your baby."

Better to go with something loud and driving, like heavy metal, if you're into that. A quick poll around the room revealed some pretty exciting content on other ladies' playlists. My favorite suggestion that evening was Danzig. As someone who has worked out to the Misfits and Faith No More many times, I can tell you that hard rock can be mighty motivating.

My plan is to lump a ton of albums into three different playlists, one mellow list for early labor, a medium tempo mix for the mid-way point, then a kill-em-all, freak-out, mega-kickass mix for push time. I guess that would involve the kind of thing you might play during the last leg of a marathon. 

Some things going on our mellow mix:

• Iron & Wine 
• The Fruit Bats
• The 6ths
• Magnetic Fields
• Sade
• Chris Isaac
• Otis Redding
• Michael Kiwanuka
• Ray Lamontagne
• Willie Nelson
• Sparklehorse

Some things going on the medium tempo mix:

• Weezer
• Maritime
• Shovels & Rope
• Hayes Carll
• Belle & Sebastian
• Best Coast
• Page France

Some things going on our pumped up mix:

• Mates of State
• Misfits
• Faith No More
• Cake
• Outkast
• St. Vincent
• The Strokes

Runners, mamas, can I get some more suggestions?

My Mother’s Cupboards

Lately when I look into my cupboards I feel strangely frustrated by their disorganization. I’m sort of a messy person by nature. I don’t like to think of myself as a slob, but more like a creative tornado that sweeps through my home, picking up and setting down bits of projects and half-finished thoughts in my wake.

The hardest part about being so messy is that living among clutter and mess really gets under my skin. I’m happiest in a clean house. I can think in a clean house. I can see clearly and I can breathe. In a messy house it is easy for me to become overwhelmed and depressed. Even a sink full of dirty dishes can be daunting. Keeping up with my own messes is a daily practice in perseverance and self preservation.

So it’s not totally irregular for a messy cupboard to get under my skin, but lately there is something else going on when I peer into that disorganized pile of spice bags and extract bottles. I keep having this thought:

“This is going to be somebody’s mother’s cupboard.”

Even with my own Mom still young and healthy, the weight of nostalgia encompassing everything to do with one’s mother feels pretty intense to me. I was taught from a very young age that mothers were something both powerful and fragile. Between Disney movies killing off mothers left and right, and my own parents having lost their folks so early on, I was left with a need to horde little memories and details about my own Mom.

I would go through her jewelry box as a kid, obsess over old photos of her from before I was born, and listen intently for any and all clues that would reveal the depths of her character beyond just who she was as my mother. I remember her cupboards. I remember the cupboards in every kitchen she ever owned, and how their patterns repeat no matter where she’s lived.

Last weekend she was lamenting over her latest struggles with the tupperware cabinet. She didn’t need to describe the cabinet in her new house. I know exactly what it must look like. She’s been battling that same cabinet full of tupperware for as long as I can remember. The only difference is that now she doesn’t have a yellow lab and four destructive kids raiding it day in and day out.

When my best friend lost her mom recently she was faced with the impossibly difficult task of going through her apartment and all of her things. When every simple object is packed with memories of your mother, how can you decide what to keep and what to let go of? Suddenly I look at everything in my everyday life differently. The tools that I work with to create art, food, and words seem special all of the sudden. The mindless habits that accompany me through my days and the little differences between myself and everyone else on Earth are about to matter to someone the way that my own mother matters to me.

I’m going to be somebody’s mother. Holy crap.

So when I look at my own cupboards I wonder if little Babeleo will pay such close attention. Will he/she see me as I am, a pile of pots and pans chucked haphazardly into a space that was obviously engineered for organization, or when they look into my kitchen will they shrug and simply shout out, “Hey Mom! Where’s the vanilla?”

Hang In There, Baby

Let’s talk about pregnancy myths. I think we’ve all heard the usuals - that exercise is unsafe, that you can only sleep on your left side, or that preggos need to “eat for two”. Bla bla bla... By the third trimester you probably know about all of that by now. Here’s one myth that actually threw me for a loop:

Braxton Hicks contractions are generally mild and painless.

Oh yeah? Have you ever been electrocuted? Imagine a similar degree of tightening all around your middle, then add a nice fat layer of cramping down deep in your lady parts. Just for fun, throw in some back pain and a few random stabbing sensations in the ol’ baby maker. Oh yeah, TOTALLY painless.

At first, I thought I might be actually going into early labor. I suppose I could have called the birthing center to check in, but first I thought it would be wise to consult a few of the mamas in my life. According to one of my co-workers, the proud mama of five babies, Braxton Hicks can certainly be intense, and yes, even painful. She gave me the same advice as the midwives had previously, not to worry until they started forming some kind of pattern.

When I asked my bestie, Melissa, she laughed and said, “Well they don’t f***ing tickle!”

I tell you what, those midwives are a bunch of lying liars. Painless, my foot. I’ve been having Braxton Hicks contractions for several weeks now, and this week they really started to heat up. Previously, I might have gone so far as to classify them as painless, only highly uncomfortable. Now, they are getting intense… and frequent. I had three sessions of 2-3 contractions on Easter Sunday, then woke up Monday morning with 3 more. The rest of Monday yielded two more short sessions of multiple contractions and a handful of singles throughout the day and evening. They seem to be building in intensity, but are still not forming a real pattern.

I was wondering if there would come a point in this pregnancy when I would finally relate to the whole “get this baby out of me” sentiment. I’m still doing pretty well right now, but if these continue becoming more intense and frequent, I think I might finally get there. This hurts, y’all. I was prepared for a few days of labor pain, but a month’s worth (even of a comparatively mild variety) seems like a bit much.

We’ll find out on Monday whether the baby is in position with the help of an ultrasound. I am also planning on asking the ladies to take a quick look downstairs just to scope things out. This being my first baby and all, I have no way of knowing whether the contractions I’m having mean anything, or if they are just par for the course. I’m guessing that a quick peek at my cervix will give us a better idea of how far out Babeleo’s arrival really is.

P.S. A little update: I had ZERO contractions on Tuesday, even after yoga, a trip to the grocery store, and a short walk around our neighborhood (all things that usually trigger them). So it looks like Babeleo is taking a little break from torturing mama. Nice baby. Good baby.

Feeling Wanty

This baby is enormous.

Part of my personal phillosophy is to strive to be content with life as it is. The secret to happiness isn't getting everything you want, it's wanting what you have. When I said this to Scott Bobleo the other day he replied, "Well I definitely want my motorcyle. Of course, if I has a muscle car I'd also want that." It's that kind of effortless honesty that makes him both lovable and infuriating. 

Of course, it should go without being said that remaining content with just what you have is more of a goal than a constant state of being. It's all too easy to get swept up with longing when you start to think of all the things you wish you had. I call this mode feeling "wanty", and I have to admit that I feel this way more often than I'd like. Though I do my best not to indulge it, wantiness rears its ugly head now and then, more so when accompanied by waves of pregnancy hormones.

Those wanty moments inspire the rare times when I wish I lived in a sitcom rather than in real life. In a sitcom, the bitchy pregnant wife gets a craving for one thing or another, then the cute but hopelessly clueless husband spends hours driving around the city procuring her heart's desire. Plus, the moms always look fabulous, with those classic round beach ball bellies that you see in maternity photo shoots. My belly isn't really shaped like it, it's more like a sideways watermelon than a beach ball, augmented by displaced pockets of chub. 

Alas, I live in real life, where my declarations of want are met by reminders of diets and budgets. Instead of hopping in the car and playing the knight in shining armor, Scott Bobleo prefers the role of Jiminy Cricket. "Ice cream? You don't need that much sugar." "Sushi? We are already way over our takeout budget for the week." He's cute, but not nearly clueless enough for me to take advantage.

For the sake of catharsis, I'm going to take a moment to moan over all of the lovely things that are currently out of reach: pedicures, gourmet meals, designer maternity clothes, the perfect pregnant body, massages, beautiful artwork for the baby's nursery, family photographers, Whole Foods smoothies, Kind Bars, coconut water, King Charles Cavalier puppies, second cars with air conditioning, foot rubs, high end blenders... 

Oh well. I take consolation in knowing that I'm richer in the end for going without having every luxury at hand. Sitcom preggos might have exotic fruits delivered on call, but I have character. So there.

Work at Home Motherhood: My Game Plan

The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, or so the saying goes. But it still can't hurt to give it a shot, right? I know that I am probably going to make many a current mama laugh with my attempts at plotting and organizing my life post-baby, but bear with me. It makes me feel better.

After scouring the internet for resources and advice on working from home with a tiny baby, I found myself in a bit of a panic. Most of the tips and advice I came across involved hiring babysitters or dropping baby off with friends and family in order to get work done. While both of those options sound great, they aren't very practical for me.

A babysitter would have to be paid nearly as much I as I do, so that's right out. While I'm sure my Mom would love to take a regular shift with little Babeleo, she lives more than two hours away. My sisters all have full time jobs or are full time moms themselves. Not surprisingly, I can't think of a single person who would be willing to care for my child on a regular basis for free. Who does?

Our nephew, Andrew, checking out his Grandpa's computer, way back when he was itty-bitty.

So where are all the women like me? The ones who can't afford to quit their full-time jobs, but can't afford childcare either? It's a real stroke of luck that I work from home, otherwise we'd be in a serious pickle financially. The question is, how does one balance work and baby on a daily basis? There have to be plenty of people out there who have done this before. 

I was incredibly relieved when I finally found someone who had. A friend of mine, and a fellow blogger, shared her story with me a few weeks ago, and it really helped. She worked from her home after having her baby, and somehow kept both her job and her sanity. Not only was hearing from her inspiring, it was super informative as well. She shared some insider tips on how to get work done while keeping baby close and happy at the same time.

I've combined her advice with some thoughts and strategies of my own, and now I am feeling a whole lot better about the next year of my life. Here's what I'm thinking so far:

1. Give them the boob. I'm banking on this as my number one strategy. I plan on sticking Babeleo in a sling, and feeding him until he's fit to burst. According to my friend, you can get quite a lot done while the little one gets their nom on.
2. Skin to skin. I'm not ashamed to work naked, especially if it improves my chances of keeping Babeleo quiet and content. I'm planning to use either a sling or a NuRoo Pocket to keep baby snuggled up while I clock laptop time.
3. Forget traditional working hours. Embracing constant interruption will be my only hope, and when it comes to certain tasks, formulation and photography for example, I will often be at the mercy of Babeleo's mood. I'm anticipating that a good portion of my work will just have to wait until my husband gets home to care for the baby. This means working whenever I can, not whenever I want.
4. Independant Play. I know that not all babies go for this, but I'm sure as hell going to try. Walkers, bouncers, jumpers, high chairs and swings could buy me precious time. Here's hoping that this kid will find toys and gear utterly fascinating.
5. Be flexible. I am a leaf on the wind. I know that some days this will work, and some days it won't. I'll have to adjust as I go, and change my plans constantly. Kids get cranky. Kids get sick. Kids are unpredictable creatures with changing needs. Staying on track, and keeping up with the simultaneous demands of work and child care won't be easy, and that's a reality I will simply need to accept.
6. Stay organized. I'll need to keep careful track of tasks and responsibilities like never before. With the constant distraction of Babeleo, my professional life will depend on a system of to-do lists, schedules, and goal setting. I'll need to be able to quickly reference what needs to be done, eliminating the need to remember things on my own. 
7. Stay focused. While I need to accept that a portion of my brain will forever be lost to my child, I will also need to make a concious effort to focus on work while I am working. Keeping baby mode and work mode completely separate will be impossible, but an attempt at focusing my attention on one or the other instead of both all at once will be super necessary. 
8. Make time to enjoy being a Mom. I'm already jealous of people who can dedicate their whole attention to their babies every day of the week. A lot of me wishes that were me too. While I won't be able to spend every waking moment playing, cooing, and gazing at the love of my life, I do intend to make time every day to stop and appreciate this little person. Removing work from my mind in order to fully enjoy the moments when I need to stop and care for Babeleo will be essential to our happiness. 
9. Take a day off every week. I think one of my biggest challenges will be stopping myself from working around the clock. In order to stay healthy and happy, I'll need to set a time every night when I simply stop working, no matter what. If possible, I'd also like to keep one day a week totally work free, maybe Sundays.
10. Keep my expectations realistic. I can't be a perfect mother or a perfect employee, but by setting attainable goals, and not biting off more than I can chew, I'll have a fighting chance of being a good mother and a good employee. More than ever, I'll need to be careful to choose my opportunities and challenges with care. There simply won't be the same amount of time and energy that there was before. 

So that's it! That's how I plan to swing being stay at home mom with a full time job (and a blog, and a wife, among other things). Wish me luck, people. I'm going to need it. Are you a work at home mom? I'd love to hear your take on all of this. Any other pearls of wisdom to bestow?

Packing Our Baby Bug-Out Bag

It's just about that time. At 34 weeks we're in that zone where the baby is unlikely to come, but technically could. In two more weeks we'll be at full-term, when things get really real. All those little things that need to be done before Bableo arrives now have a ticking clock behind them. We have to find a pediatrician, finish painting the nursery, finalize help and arrangements with our family, and rustle up the last little things that we need for delivery day. 

One thing that we've successfully tackled this week is our baby bag. Scott Bobleo has been calling it our Baby Bug-Out Bag. Armed with a list of necessities from the birthing center, we've packed it well. Want to see what's inside? 

Baby Stuff: A few newborn hats, socks and mittens, three recieving blankets, and a handful of onesies and sleepers. I know this should be obvious, but it still blows my mind that soon there will be a baby inside these clothes. What?!

Clothes for us: I've been told over and over again that I will probably just want to labor naked, but just in case, I bought myself a simple Labor Gown. It's that crazy looking thing on the right side. It's basically a jersey dress with a big hole in the front to make my belly easy to access. I also included a Sleep Bra, which will preserve my modesty (should I care about that) while laboring in the tub.

Speaking of the tub, I added a pair of trunks for Scott in case he wants to get in there with me. He doesn't think that's likely to happen, but you never know. At least I'm not asking him to climb in naked. There are a few pairs of undies for when the party is over, and I also packed a cotton robe which I forgot to show here - in case I get chilly at some point before or after. 

 

Other Essentials: I picked up a new toothbrush and some travel sized toothpaste so I don't have to remember to pack it when the time comes. The birthing center also suggests shampoo and conditioner. Since I'm a No-Poo chick, I may or may not remember to pack my baking soda and vinegar on the big day. We'll see.

We're bringing disposable diapers to the birth. We plan on using cloth diapers and elimination communication after the first few weeks, but as someone who has seen meconium first-hand, that instense black tar poop that babies expel in their first few days, I'm not in a hurry to clog up the cloth operation before we even get started. 

The other pads there are for me. For the scary after-stuff... the healing time... eek. Don't ask me why that freaks me out. Bleeding for a few weeks shouldn't scare me more than giving birth, but then fear is hardly ever logical is it?

Non-Essentials: We're bringing the good camera, and an ipod or iphone full of inspirational music and relaxing music to help get us through different stages of the labor. We are also considering bringing Scott's guitar. It might be a totally stupid and/or crazy idea, but listening to Scott play has a really calming effect on me, and I'm wondering if singing along might give me something to focus on in between contractions. Again, we'll just have to wait and see what works and what doesn't. 

We still need to stock the bag with a few other things, namely power snacks and drinks for the big day. I'm thinking coconut water and oatmeal cookies. I'm also gonna stick some jammy pants and big t-shirt in there for my homecoming. I am thinking I will probably want clean clothes at that point, and I'll want them to be comfy.

What did you have in your baby bug-out bag?

Songs for Babeleo

Just for fun, I thought I might share a few songs that I've been singing to baby over the past couple of weeks. The internets say that Babeleo can hear me now, and that he'll start reacting to simple melodies. He might even find them comforting after he arrives. But what do you sing to a little inside baby?

At first it was hard to connect the dots, but my ever-shifting perspective has started making it easy for me to interpret old favorites in a new way. Spatterings of lyrics hit me in a new way when I think of them being sung to a baby instead of a boyfriend. Again, I get the sense that getting to know Babeleo is like falling in love, head over heels, the way I did when I was just a kid. 

A few favorite lines from each song:

I Will, The Beatles

And when at last I find you
Your song will fill the air
Sing it loud so I can hear you
Make it easy to be near you
For the things you do endear you to me
Oh, you know I will
I will

Hold You In My Arms, Ray Lamontagne

I could hold you in my arms
I could hold you forever

Find the Light, David Ramirez

I wish upon you an easy life
I wish upon you hard times
I hope you know that both joy and pain
Each need their moment to shine
I wish you ears that are quick to listen
That you're slow to use that tongue
But most of all I wish upon you love

Jayne's Blue Wish, Tom Waits

Will there ever be a tree
Grown from the seeds I've sown
Life is a path lit only by the light of those I've loved
By the light of those I love

Oceania, Bjork

Every boy, is a snake is a lily 
Every pearl is a lynx, is a girl 
Sweet like harmony made into flesh 
You dance by my side 
Children sublime 

Slow Show, The National

You know I dreamed about you
For 29 years before I saw you
You know I dreamed about you
I missed you for, for 29 years

That's How Strong My Love Is, Otis Redding

If I was the Sun way up there
I'd go with love most everywhere
I'll be the moon when the sun goes down
Just to let you know that I'm still around.

That's how strong my love is.

O Sleep, Lisa Hannigan

From now until dawn, 
it can’t be too long for me, 
I count the hours
‘til I sleep with your feet by my feet, 
your breath on my cheek, asleep.

Songbird, Fleetwood Mac

To you, I'll give the world
to you, I'll never be cold
'Cause I feel that when I'm with you,
It's alright, I know it's right.
And the songbirds are singing,
Like they know the score,
And I love you, I love you, I love you,
Like never before.

I'm Getting Ready, Michael Kiwanuka

Oh my, I didn't know what it means to believe

But if I hold on tight, is it true?
Would You take care of all that I do?
Oh Lord, I'm getting ready to believe.

What a Wonderful World, Louis Armstrong

I hear babies cry, 
I watch them grow, 
They'll learn much more, 
Than I'll ever know. 
And I think to myself, 
What a wonderful world. 

Scared at Night, Kathleen Edwards

Believe me
All the days you're unsure
Believe in me...

In the dark
Picture me in your mind
And i'll lay with you
You don't have to be scared at night

Two Beings, One Body

I think I mentioned how in the beginning of my pregnancy I was surprised to find myself not at all put out by the idea of sharing my body with another human being. I hear from so many other mamas that are frustrated by the situation, longing for the freedom that their pre-pregnancy bodies afforded. "I just want my body back" is a super common sentiment, one that I think most pregnant ladies can relate to.

My own attitude toward sharing my body is a little different, mostly due to how I view the world (and myself) spiritually. While I certainly do consider my body my domain, I don't think of it as my self. I think of it more like the vessel that carries me through life. Sharing that vessel with someone I love doesn't feel like a burden to me. It feels more like a gift. 

It's a similar feeling to the joy I get out of sharing my home with my loved ones. While I adore calm, quiet, and privacy, I also love the feeling of a full house. The cozy security of sleeping under the same roof with my family just makes me happy. I love going to sleep knowing that my parents or my sisters are just a few yards away, and I enjoy waking up to a kitchen bustling with voices and activity. Shared vacation homes and holiday sleepovers are my piece of cake. When you consider all that, it's easy to see why home full of children is my dream. 

So if my body is my home, I'm delighted to have Babeleo move in. At first, she was little more than the knowledge of her presence, a feeling of fullness and a long list of rules and responsibilities. She was the explanation for symptoms, and the focus of my desperate battle for optimism against less than perefect odds.

Later, after she beat those odds, she started to flutter and spin, tickling me from the inside, and reassuring me that she had every intention of sticking around. How can I put into words how thankful I was for those first little kicks? Suddenly everything was going to be OK.

And now Babeleo is BIG, big enough to finally have a say in what we do with this body we share. She pushes on me looking for more space in her cramped quarters. I react to her movements, and she reacts to mine. If I rub my tummy she rolls over to greet me. If I wiggle my middle she wiggles right back, filling my belly with ticklish vibrations. Sometimes she sticks her limbs into my organs and forces me to move - rolling over, standing up, and leaning back to accomodate her.  

So while part of me is certainly exhausted from the balancing act of keeping my body in the best baby-friendly condition it can be, do I want my body back? Not quite yet. In fact, I sometimes have moments of panic where I worry that I'm somehow missing it. The time I have with my inside-baby is fleeting. It will never come again, and while I know we have a lifetime of even better, more wonderful moments ahead of us, I also feel like our time spent together in this one body is a rare and precious thing.

I'll never be pregnant for the first time again. I'll never be pregnant with THIS baby again. There have been few periods in my life where I felt this present, this aware of the passage of time, and of the life flowing through my body. I spent years of my life searching for the feeling that becoming a mother has plopped right into my lap. It's sort of funny how at one point I actually felt like I had to choose between the path that led to love and family and the path that led to peace and enlightenment. 

It turns out that I chose far more wisely than I knew.

Working Nine to Five

So the combination of a short fuse, a quickness to tears, and a new level of clumsiness is really making work extra challenging lately. I find myself immensely jealous of rich women who get to lay around crying in peace. I, on the other hand, am knee deep in plant-based colorants, lotion base, and email. My hands are sixty different colors. My floor is coated in oil, and my wits are at their end. 

I had a plan, you see. My plan was to blog on overdrive for the next couple of months, stocking my work blog with posts and recipes to span whatever measly leave I can afford to take off. I also planned to take advantage of the weather and light this time of year to push out another three or four tutorial videos for The Natural Beauty Workshop.

In a perfect world, I would even have Mary Makes Pretty and Mary Makes Dinner stocked up by now. Instead, I'll have to either go on hiatus or recruit some guest bloggers to cover the gap. (Want to guest blog for me?? I'd be WAY into that. Vegetarian food posts, natural beauty posts, and crafty/DIY posts would be great.)

Plans are nice, aren't they? I usually think so, at least until said plans are derailed by unexpected piles of extra work and an ever-growing belly. Hell, usually unexpected piles of work don't phase me at all. Normally I'd be game. Normally I'd be flexible, taking it all in stride, doing what I could when I could, without freaking out over it all. But normally I'm not eight months pregnant and staring into the terrifying eye of impending motherhood.

As is, I'm kind of losing it. My hormone tormented feels (not to mention my aching legs) are screaming out for a break, one that I just can't supply them with. The last thing I can afford to do right now is take even more time off of work, especially considering that I'm on my own when it comes to stocking the blog and social media outlets for the time I'll be gone. 

I know plenty of folks have made the most out of much worse situations, but I've got to tell you, I am tired, and really regretting not signing up for a private short term disability package before getting preggers. I was so busy worrying about whether or not we could get pregnant that I didn't stop to think about little details like paying the mortgage while I recovered from birth. And here in Texas, women can't even apply for unemployment during that period.

Let that be a lesson to you TTC ladies out there. Square this shit up before you get that bun in the oven. Post-miracle it will be too late. 

Did I mention yet that I can barely keep my eyes open after 3:00 pm? Ughhhh...

So, other mamas, how did you cope with life in the third trimester? Tips and advice are most welcome. After googling, the best advice I could find was totally inpractical (ie: quit your job, stupid.) VERY helpful, internets. 

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