Since my last post I have exited my twenties and entered my thirties. On one hand, it's difficult for me to believe it could be so, but on the other hand, I feel like it's just the right fit: I'm still pretty young, but I have earned enough stripes to no longer be considered a complete rookie. Admittedly I wish I could have done something new and memorable to mark my third decade, but your options for celebration are decidedly limited when you're thirty weeks pregnant. Still, Eric and I managed to get out for a day trip to San Diego and spent the day at SeaWorld. I hadn't been to SeaWorld since a family vacation to Florida as a kid, so it was fun to revisit it as an adult. Eric made sure I got a break from the heat and walking around when I needed it, which was a very good thing since it was a very hot day.
In other news...Eric finally tackled the job of clearing out the babyroom-to-be! He was very tricksy about it, too. He told me yesterday that he was going to be working for his dad all day, but he was really at home working furiously on the room. For one day's work he made huge progress, cleaning all four of his bookshelves and moving them into our bedroom and shifting other furniture around to make room for the baby furniture that we'll have to accommodate soon. Besides all that, he assembled the glider and ottoman that was our joint birthday present from his parents (and also, ultimately, for the baby too). Suffice it to say he was a busy, busy boy on Saturday and his wife was very pleased with all of his hard work. There is still plenty to do, but it is no longer a dauntingly monstrous, anxiety-inducing task.
I look forward to completing the room's baby makeover once we've acquired the necessary baby gear. It will be a fun project and satisfy my "nesting" instincts quite nicely. At the moment my nesting activities are mainly centered around throwing a lot of stuff out in an effort to make room for our tiny new occupant who, despite his wee size, will require a heck of a lot of space. I can already see that Eric and I will soon become mere boarders who happen to live in his space, rather than the other way around. After a couple of weeks of sorting through things and determining what should stay and what has to go, I feel confident in saying I think we'll have room enough for the baby--albeit just enough.
As of today, I have nine weeks left (six weeks until the baby is term, nine weeks until the due date). Nine weeks sounds like an awful short period of time compared to the thirty-one weeks that have already passed, but I can already sense that these final weeks are going to pass far more slowly. I have nothing to complain about aside from the typical aches, pains, and frustrations expected during pregnancy, but as my discomfort level rises, I have no illusions about what these final weeks will be like. My current frustration is finding something to wear every day. Given the torpedo-like trajectory of my belly, I've very nearly outgrown a lot of my maternity shirts. This development is both irritating and depressing. I've even raided Eric's t-shirts for loose, comfy sleeping attire and--perhaps even more depressingly--am finding I now have no problem filling his shirts out!
What really gives me pause is knowing that at the moment the baby only weighs a little over three pounds, so he has A LOT of growing left to do. Perhaps I should skip the maternity stores and just go looking for a nice set of curtains to satisfy my wardrobe needs over the coming weeks...