33 weeks and Limbo

I feel like I'm in limbo.

Thirty-three weeks into this game and I'm just not sure what's going on. Even my doctor doesn't seem that excited at this point. Just takes my vitals, listens to baby's heartbeat and says, "See you next month!"

I realize I should be getting excited, but it's gone back to where I was in the beginning, feeling like it really isn't that real or immediate. Despite the fact that I'm sort of ridiculously huge and full of baby. Even that seems pretty routine at this point. The good news is that I'm not terribly uncomfortable or anything like that. The bad news is that it's making it all seem pretty normal, and not like we're leading up to a life-changing event.

I mean, getting up to use the bathroom three times a night is just what I do now. It's not a big deal any more.

I also can't figure out what I'm supposed to be doing, exactly. Part of me feels like I should be compulsively cleaning and organizing things. Part of me feels like I should be resting with my feet up and watching old episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on Hulu.

I don't actually do either of those things, so I'm not sure which one is winning.

Part of me really wants to go shopping for new spring clothes every time I open a magazine or see an ad online, while the saner, more rational part of me says, "Are you out of your 33-inch-belly mind?"

My mind keeps turning to plans that I really can't make. I've been daydreaming about raking compost into our lawn and tilling up ground for a vegetable garden. I know. I know. That's how weird my mind is right now that I'm daydreaming about those sorts of things.

That and cheeseburgers.

I've been writing a business plan for my new life as a freelancer. It seems to completely gloss over the fact that I'll have an entirely different full-time job as a mom.

I'm not sure if this is a defense mechanism or what. I'm not really daydreaming about what it will be like to have a baby. That's probably for the best though, because I figure whatever my mind can conjure up—no matter how good or how horrifying—it's not actually going to be anything like that.

I'm trying to get into the habit of doing one load of laundry per day.

I'm trying to stay out of the habit of being in my pajamas all day.

One part of me feels like I should have kept working full time all the way up to the end of pregnancy, for the moolah, if nothing else. And maybe the adult company, of which I will be bereft pretty quickly. Another part of me goes to the office once or twice a week, comes home wiped, and is intensely grateful that I don't have to work full time.

One part of me has been compulsively clipping coupons and buying groceries in bulk and on sale to save money. The other part of me just wants to go SHOPPING and EAT OUT all the time. (See the spring wardrobe and cheeseburger daydreams.)

I am one part domestic goddess, one part lazy freeloader. One part anxious and excited to be a mom, one part queen of denial.

Mix well. Go stir crazy.

And continue jonesing for cheeseburgers.