Well it’s official. I made it to 36 weeks pregnant. It’s been such a long road. I’ve been pregnant for 54 of 66 weeks. I’m so tired of being pregnant. And if one more person says “Don’t worry it will all be worth it in the end” I might scream. A year ago, almost to the day, shit went down and baby McConnell #1 was lost. So no, last time it wasn’t ” all worth it in the end”. It all fucking sucked in the end. And of course no matter how positive I try to be, I still have that crappy nagging feeling that something is just going to go wrong. Again.
John is so happy that he will be a dad. I’m scared shit-less. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. I guess most first time parents really have no idea, but I wish I had some idea what to expect. Being miserable and uncomfortable all the time sucks. And this isn’t even the worst part. I have to squeeze a watermelon out of a hole the size of a bagel.
I’m still pissed my mom has openly expressed that she does not like the name we chose. “We had a dog named Madeline”. So what?! I didn’t name the dog (which hasn’t been around for years). She isn’t going to be the only person in the world with this name. Then my mom goes on to bitch about how “everyone has such cute ultrasound photos and mine aren’t great”. As if I have some control over what position the baby is in during ultrasounds.