Yeah, I'm ready to not be pregnant anymore.

Don't get me wrong~ it's been an amazing process. Surreal, science fictiony, and amazing. I think I'll miss feeling Maxers kicking around in there. I'll miss my friends touching my belly with awe (I guess I could still ask them to afterwards!). And there is definitely something sacred about being a human incubation station.

But the heartburn that makes me throw up at night, the sciatica, the thighs squishing together and the I-thought-I-was-just-going-to-cough-but-I-just-peed-my-pants-a-little are getting a little old.

And did I mention the low blood pressure induced dizzy spells? After a recent eye doctor appointment at the mall (pleased to be reading my entry on ocular herpes), I found myself slumped over a table in the food court praying (out loud, I think) please do not let me pass out in the food court at the mall. Please do not let me crumple into a slick of cheese sauce in the food court at the mall. It was, by the way, at that moment that I realized how fine the line is between appearing sane and appearing like, well, someone hunched over a table in the food court at the mall praying. Perhaps a lesson in compassion for us all.

I really, really thought I'd love being pregnant. I thought I'd be aglow with the warm pulse of mother-to-be-ness. Connected to all living things, flaunting my roundness. I wanted to be pregnant really badly. When other people were getting pregnant, I was happy for them but also jealous.

Now? Not so much.

Now this doesn't mean that I'm ready for birth (can you ever really be ready for that?!?) or that our house is set up for a little one yet. I'm just ready for the hostile takeover of my body to be done. And I'm getting pretty curious to see what this little guy is like. What he looks like.

So. I said it. I don't really like being pregnant. I'm glad to be having the experience~ been there, done that, got the t-shirt, stretched it out. Peed in it a little.