Dear Victoria’s Secret,

Truth is, I like you. We’ve had some good times. 5 pair of underwear for $25 is a good deal. Your semi-annual sale is an event I almost never miss.  Remember the $800 I put on my Angels credit card before the wedding? I even love your clothing selection and would very much like you to offer your sweaters, dresses and workout clothes in stores instead of just online. So please don’t take what I am about to say too harshly.

GO TO HELL. Sending me catalogs featuring $200 bikinis when I can barely afford warm socks is mean enough. Sending them to Connecticut in January is evil. And sending them to someone who is 7 months pregnant may be unconstitutional, since it is cruel and unusual punishment. The happy people on the sunny, warm beaches wearing teeny tiny outfits with not a stretch mark or dimple in sight could be damaging to my mental status. I need to think of my health and the health of my unborn baby.

So I set your catalog on fire. Please feel free to send another one, Duraflame logs are kind of expensive.

Kisses!

Suzanne

I have a joke for you. Who has two thumbs, hasn’t gained any more weight and has 90/60 blood pressure?
This girl!
I guess that doesn’t work so well on the internet.

Ok, this joke is completely unrelated, except that I almost fell off the couch it made me laugh so much. I suspect it’s not really that funny, but don’t argue too much the the pregnant woman, k?
What’s red and smells like blue paint?
Red paint!

AHAHAHAHAHahahahahahaha! Hahahaha! Ha. Sorry, now back to your regularly scheduled complaining.

Today is the first day of my last trimester. After my doctor’s appointment tomorrow I start going in every two weeks, and not long after that they start doing pelvic exams instead of just checking Baby’s heartbeat and my weight. But along with the sudden realization that I AM GOING TO HAVE A BABY comes a complete loss of common sense. I’ve started to think that things like a French baby food maker sound incredibly important and necessary. And then of course I’ll need a baby cookbook, because although I barely bother to add a little garlic to canned tomato sauce for E or myself, my infant needs actual recipes. Then there’s the matter of all the non-organic clothes, blankets, and toys I’ve bought or been given. Although the organic stuff costs roughly 200-400% more than the regular kind, what if I’m poisoning my baby slowly through his socks? To top it all off, I read an article about ways to remove the hair from your bikini line in the last trimester, when you can’t shave anymore because you CAN’T SEE IT. And now I’m worried my doctor will judge me, seeing as how the last time I thought about my bikini line was probably the day I got pregnant.

Since I clearly have no internal measure of wackiness left, I need some help. How insane is buying a hospital gown to deliver the baby in? These are adorable, I love that they close down the back and the snaps in the front for breastfeeding get an A+. On the other hand, they cost $50 and I am pretty much guaranteed to get at least three bodily fluids on it. Am I allowed to just give birth in a Target nightgown or an old t-shirt? I realize what I am wearing is going to be the last thing on my mind during labor, but for now, I have nothing else to think about. So. Good idea, bad idea?

Blood in the umbilical cord travels at 4 miles an hour.

(This was the first slide of the PowerPoint at birthing class. I’m hoping we get one every week so I can use the phrase “fetal fun fact” again)

I stopped by my old job yesterday to say hi and see how they managed to stay in business without me (answer: the one other person who actually does stuff works twice as hard for no pay) and the first woman I saw said “Oh look! You’ve gained so much weight!” And pointed at my FACE. Gee, thanks lady. Were you aware that sort of thing tends to happen with pregnancy? She might be an idiot but I felt like a whale. I had apples and yogurt for lunch, baked chicken for dinner, and did the harder of my two prenatal workout DVDs.

This morning I had trouble walking. Although I am sure birthing squats are good for me, my thighs just aren’t prepared for that much work. But since I cannot face my doctor’s scale on Thursday without at least trying to work out, I dragged my sore ass to the Y for some laps in the pool. While I was floating around in the nice warm water I felt great. Letting the water support my belly was like instantly losing 50 pounds. And my maternity tankini is still adorable.

But now that I’m back on land, even sitting on the couch hurts. I am also unreasonably thirsty – which may or may not be related – but every time I take even a tiny sip of water I have to get up and pee. The 20 feet from my couch to the bathroom are the longest 20 feet in the world. I am about five minutes away from a pair of Depends. Luckily, there is no where I have to be until Thursday. And if my doctor says I’ve gained another five pounds and did I know walking twenty minutes a day or eating more vegetables is good for me I will cry until she takes it back and swears what my baby really needs is more jelly beans.