the good news is that my amniotic fluid stayed steady this week.  the bad news is that third trimester insomnia is real.  the unsurprising news is that with less than four weeks left until d-day, my workload continues to be relentless, monumental, and ever-multiplying.  i am handling this the only way i know how- saying "okay, i'll take care of it", then sitting in my office thinking about how great it would feel to die.

dr. grisham reiterated that at this point- little j is considered term next week- another drop in my afi would result in delivery.  and i feel like i must've attended the andrea yates school of motherhood because i'm so remarkably unworried about the possibility of early eviction.  shouldn't i be feverishly googling opinionated blog entries about the clinical implications of early term delivery?  stressing about the possibility of a nicu stint or calculating how many neural connections he might be cheated out of?  at the very least, anxious about his tiny baby lungs?

i just feel...so okay.  calm, confident, accepting.  it is an alien sensation, to be so utterly devoid of apprehension with regards to this massive field of icebergs straight ahead.  the possibility of induction, the unknown due date, the pain of labor, the plot twists of delivery, the unfathomable arrival of a little stranger and the wild new world he will bring- the absolutely unforeseeable, unpredictable foreignness of it all.

i worry less about my baby than i do about my work.  

the sleeplessness of this last month is a physiologically induced shitshow, but it doesn't help to be constantly preoccupied with a never ending list of unfinished tasks and unsolved issues and unaddressed behaviors, scrolling through my brain with ludicrous length like ending credits for the extended version of a lotr film.  but it's my mind that's mordor and my job that's mordor and my clinics that are mordor and i can't diversify these metaphors because i am running on very little sleep.

i can't blame it all on the pressure of leadership.  there is also the pressure of my bladder.  james, 调皮 even before birth, sleeps all day and parties all night.  when i clamber into bed for the merciful relief of being horizontal, he immediately recognizes a cue to get turnt.  he headbutts my bladder like a woeful drunk trying to squeeze the last two drops out of a defeated franzia bag.  his elbows flail sharply, forcing me to roll over so frequently i look like i'm pantomiming a charade of restless sleeping.  i try listening to audiobooks.  i try taking benadryl.  i try reading through a year's worth of status updates from my most posturing and boring facebook friend.  nothing works and i scrape together two hours of sleep after a night of whining "cut it outttt" to my belly.  it is lucky that ian slumbers with the tenacity of a coma victim.  lucky and also infuriating.  

and speaking of being highly uncomfortable, i reneged on my indignant self-loathing and actually opted to do maternity photos.  it was a pretty painless process, despite the fact that i threw a literal tantrum the morning of my shoot and laid facedown on the bed weeping about my pointless hogbody.  i was an actual cathy comic.  i think i literally sobbed "i have nothing to wear!"

but of course i wore three different dresses for the shoot and felt monstrously enormous in all of them.  i applied the wrong foundation color, failed to blend my eyeshadow, and half my close-up shots prominently feature excessive eyelash glue.  the photographer was an expert in the maternity portraiture field- she was patient, practiced, and provided the relief of non-stop direction.  i sweated like a pot roast and performed the suggested poses with the gracelessness of a dress barn mannequin discarded in a dumpster.

but the important takeaway is, i did a thing that made me uncomfortable!  because it's not just about me and my whack body image and the fact that my maternity look is less ~serenely hugging my belly nearby a sunset lake~ and more lying in bed with cheeto crumbs in my hair.  i wanted to bypass my discomfort and memorialize this pregnancy for ian, for our little family, and for a future me that will hopefully look back on these nine months and maybe really believe that they were graceful, beautiful, washed in pink light during golden hour.

lol who am i kidding i'm going to still be mad at myself for applying my eyeshadow like i had a fucking seizure.