Ariana’s Neighborhood

The 36th week starts today, so we're 5 weeks away (yup, the system they use to count this is confusing. 35 weeks 0 days - 35 weeks 6 days is the 36th week.) from my due date. I'm scared shitless.

Yesterday we went to see the picasso-exhibition at Ateneum (The Finnish National Gallery).

I'm 2 days away from maternity leave and oh sweet lord the amount of things I will finally have time to do! First on the list is going to the salon to have something done about this thing on my head. My hair looks like it has been attacked by a vicious rodent.

All the stuff I'm going to do is really going to take a big-ass chunk of all that time I'm soon going to have on my hands (precious, sweet, delicious time), seeing as I'm about as mobile as a snail in glue. And have I mentioned even once about the exhaustion? 3 colleagues of mine have been to work sick, and now they're all extremely amazed because I seem to have caught the flu from some mystical source. Which is nice because breathing was so easy when there was just this 2,5 kg kid kicking and pushing at my lungs. I've always loved a bit of a challenge.

This sort of means that things like standing upright have become a bit of a battle, and I've handled it like a man: I complained loudly about the absence of proper chairs in the shower for all the pregnant people in this household. Hellooo! Awkward and huge women over here! So my ever so thoughtfu husband pushed in a gymball for me to sit on. In the shower. Yes, this is the point we have arrived at. Hi Mom.

But gymballs in the shower are awesome! Very comfortable to sit on, not to mention they're like these huge toys! So it was all working out very smoothly for me for a while. Until I sort of discovered that soapy gymballs in a soapy room (what? I like bubbles.) are sort of hazardous. I'll cut a long story short and just say that I was very lucky that my husband was at home to lift me up off the floor.

And I'm no longer allowed to shower without adult supervision.

Hey, Honey? How would you feel about babysitting a puppy of a colleague of mine? For that trip we're taking in a few weeks?

A puppy?! Sure! As long as it doesn't pee in the house.

I think it won't. It should be trained.

How old is the pup? And what kind of puppy are we talking?

Kofi is about 2, I think.

2?! That's hardly a puppy, babe. How big is Kofi?

Oh... you know. About 45 kg. I think he is a Bullmastiff.

I think we have to have a discussion about terms like "small" and "puppy" sometime soon.

This sucks.

It's been almost a year since I got my life back and I still can't believe it. You can read about it here and here.

The plastic face is still an option, but it probably won't happen in the near future. Still going for a check-up after popping the kid out because Superdoc thought pregnancy might tell my brain the face is ok when it might not be.

You guys can't even believe how many different kinds of awesome the past painfree year has been. I've slept like a baby for at least the part of the year I wasn't expecting one. I've eaten pretty much anything I want to, and I've been more alert and a much nicer person than I have been in years. (Which in reality isn't that much of an improvement on my part because I'm still sort of a shit to begin with.)

And abso-fucking-lutely no painkillers for a whole goddamn year!

Yesterday the kid started kicking me in my right lung and/or solar plexus. All. Day. Long. Coincidentally also all night long. So this morning my lung and/or solar plexus had had it and I drove to work only to puke in the trashcan by my parking space. Since logic has not been sighted in at least 6 months, my first thought was Oh God I'm in still in the first trimester!

Outside my head, in real life, I'm less than 2 weeks away from maternity leave. Which also means that in less than 2 weeks I will stop wearing pants. I don't care what anyone thinks because at this point it just doesn't pay off to dress myself. Christmas with the family might be a bit awkward, though.

Christmas is around the corner, and I've conveniently forgotten all about it. Normally I love christmas to bits. I love the lights, the feelings, getting people gifts and all that. I would totally date christmas if I could.

This year when the topic of christmas first came up I was still thinking it was september. And that I was probably still in the first trimester. It feels like it's just another hurdle to get through before we can finally have this baby. Just another thing to wait out.

But now I'm actually starting to look forward to it. Apart from the puking, the total exhaustion and the realization that breathing is in fact optional and not at all compulsory for survival as I had thought before, I'm starting to feel pretty good. The house is almost (and I use the term loosely) finished, I'm almost (still, loosely) on maternity leave, pantsless, it's almost christmas (yay!) and we're almost (You can't even believe how loosely) on our way to having a baby.

Even if I'm still in the first trimester.

Since the kid has turned head down, there's a lot of butt-action going on in the higher, more visible parts of the stomach. The kid is a lot bigger than s/he was a few weeks ago, so there ain't as much turning about going on anymore, but all the movements are a lot more visible. I have extra Minibutt-bulges on my stomach several times a day. Cute, you think?

Try freaky as hell.

I've also noticed how very much I am pregnant, and how much Sami is not. I've been sleeping better than I have in months, but since he can see the movements more often now than he could before, he automatically thinks I sleep worse now compared to what it was like about a month ago. You'd think the absence of me strangling random people who ask me how the pregnancy is going would tip him off, but apparently not.

Things are going rather impatiently on my part (get out get out get out get out!) but it has been smooth sailing otherwise. Except for the clumsiness. My toes are like heat-seeking missiles to all corners, sharp edges and chairs. So I swear a lot nowadays. I can't get comfortable in a chair or a sofa even if my life was hanging on it. I can't get into pants or shoes without preparing myself mentally for at least a good 15 minutes beforehand.

Imagine how nice it is to know that the baby is almost going to double in weight during these last weeks. I'm soooo not going to bother wearing pants once I get to go on maternity leave in a few weeks. I can always blame it on the hormones.

Yesterday, we had our office christmas party. We went to see Tribute To The Four Tops at Grand Casino in Helsinki, and I have to say it was absolutely fantastic. I've never seen motown, I don't know The Four Tops and I wasn't even close to being born in the sixties, but it was a really great show 'n' dinner-thing. The group normally performs in Las Vegas, and I think all the tickets to their Helsinki-shows are already sold out, but if you get the chance to see them at some point: go for it.

The main point of any office christmas party is, however, to get shitfaced. I was the only non-drinker in the party, and even though I had a lot of fun watching the others, I started to get Poor Bunny-looks from the waiters. They were very keen on making sure I enjoyed my non-alcoholic drink. No, not enjoyed, but really enjoyed it. Was it really good, not just politely good? Because we can make you another one if you didn't like it, poor little bunny.

Alcohol (as you probably know) also lowers people's inhibitions, so every last person who had secretly been wanting to touch my stomach drank themselves some nerves to come up and ask me if they could do it. Sure, knock yourselves out! All in all I think I had about 18 pairs of paws on my stomach.

I never wanna be touched again.

Funny thing is that when drunk, people tell their boss to suck it (check! Man I'm glad I was sober and well-behaved so I'm not in front of the firing squad today) and tell the pregnant lady she's gorgeous. You really are. But you are normally, too, I didn't mean anything by it. Not that you're less gorgeous now or anything. You're sexy! No, wait! Not sexy-sexy, but pregnant-sexy. You know, in a non-intimidating way. I'm not trying to hit on you or anything. Not that I don't think you wouldn't be worth hitting on. I'm just, not, you know. It's not the pregnancy, I'm married and you're married and we're both sexy so let's hug! You're so cool. We should hug more often! Can I touch your stomach?

Awkward drunk people are so fucking hilarious.

And you guys have NO idea how fun it is to be the only one not suffering from a hangover today.