Thank You for C-Sections…

Apparently, this behemoth baby already weighs over 6 pounds.  (6 pounds, 3 ounces is what they “measured” him at, to be exact.)  YIKES.  Thank god I’m not pushing his big ass out. 

Anyone want to make some guesses as to what this big ole Thanksgiving turkey will weigh when he actually does come out???  My vote is still 27 pounds.  (And it’s all okay, because, again, he is not making a trip through this birth canal.  Oh, hell no!  Suzie, you can stop cringing in fear.)

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Hi, My Name Is Shannie…

Remember me? No? Well, that’d be my own damned fault.

Let’s do another round of “Shannie Sucks So We’re Having Yet Another Boring Random Shit Post,” shall we?

Everywhere I go people rush over, all worried and concerned, and ask me if I need help or if I need them to call someone for me…  I’m that.damn.big. And I’m not even 35 weeks yet.  Nurses at the doctor’s office even think I’m there because labor is in full swing. Totally not kidding.  I get that from a handful of people everywhere I go.  I don’t think if I was in labor, people, I’d be perusing the Ben & Jerry’s at the Walmartz… Seriously.  I’m not even 35 weeks yet, folks.
See…  No shit:

 

Avery is still being a rockstar. That child is amazing! She has gotten so grown-uppy. *Sigh*  She’s also playing soccer (which she is not so fond of…  She’d rather lay in the grass in front of the goal…) and taking ballet and tap (which she loves!) and is doing most excellently in pre-K.  She’s a smart cookie.  Takes after her Mommy… 

Henry is still throwing temper tantrums… But, is hilarious when doing so… He hates it when we laugh. He throws himself in the floor and keeps peaking to make sure you’re looking… It’s not so hilarious, though, when you’re in, oh, say Carter’s, like we were today, and he starts taking clothes off the racks and running around screaming…  Then pitching a major wild ass fit when you try and trap him back in the stroller…  I was sweating and out of breath by the time it was over with…  I should have known better than to let him out, even when he promised to sit and play at that super germ ridden Leggo table with all those snotty nosed kids.  I bought ONE pair of pants.  That’s it.  That’s all we had time for before we had to do the “tuck and run.”  But, when he’s not pitching a holy hell fit, which is mostly when we’re not in public, he’s super sweet, cuddly and loves to kiss me and my big, giant belly.

I can’t wait for my favorite holiday, Halloween! Lots of candy for Big Mama AND we’re having a part-ay for the kids! With a hayride to trick-or-treat off of. Remember my Halloween Party from last year? It was a drunken adult affair, though… But, since I’m knocked up this year and can’t imbibe, the kids get the big party. What’s the point in me throwing a big adult party if I can’t get snockered??? Is there one? I think not. I love this pic (and it includes the elusive Mister):

What could a hugely pregnant lady dress up as? Besides a blimp or a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade float. A whale? An elephant?? Ooh, I could dress up as a Walmart shopper, in a velour jumpsuit with potato chip crumbs stuck to me and rent a “sassy chair” and run over people all night. Give me some ideas.

I really don’t think I’ll make it to my c-section date (which is November 24th… two days before Thanksgiving.) I think Super Tucker has other plans. Which is fine by me.  Unless he makes me miss the midnight showing of New Moon on the 19th/20th.  That would suck.  Big, nasty ones.  And, we actually are looking forward to being in the hospital for Thanksgiving…

My letter of resignation as Lifetime President of the Ittie Bittie Tittie Committee is in the works…  I got myself measured, like a real grown up, for a bra and not only was I ready to move from my normal bra size of NA (yes, it’s a real bra size…  Nearly A, not non-applicable.  But, that would work, too…,) I measured a MUTHA HUMPIN’ D cup!  A D CUP.  Did I say that loud enough???  I MEASURED A MUTHA HUMPIN’ D CUP.  I called the Mister, because I was about to faint, and he laughed hysterically.  And laughed.  And laughed.  And laughed.  Too bad I won’t let him touch them. 

I’ve been waiting for the doctor to put me on bedrest… I’m in constant pain. Seriously. It hurts to move. It hurts to sit. Come on, November. Luckily, I have an adoring, pampering husband that spoils me incredibly and makes me stay off my feet…  Even if I won’t let him touch my mother humpin’ D cup tittays. 

Avery can’t come to the hospital to see the baby… And I haven’t told her yet. I’m so upset. I know she will be… They won’t admit anyone under 19 into the maternity ward. I understand why, but damn.  And seriously, why 19?  Why not 18?  Or 16?  That seems kind of a weird, random age… 

The Mister’s brother and his wife just had a beautiful baby girl! They named her Charlotte, isn’t that pretty? I’m glad it’s something nice and very beautiful, otherwise Avery would have been pissed that they didn’t name her Silly Sallie like she told them they had to.

You want to see a picture of the nursery?

 

Yep, still a guest room.  This poor, poor third child. We haven’t even started purchasing any baby stuff. I have nothing baby…  I gave it all away after Henry.  And I have five weeks. FIVE WEEKS. And I’m not convinced he won’t fall out any second now. (We do have a crib & a piece of furniture… Obviously not put up… But, that’s IT. Seriously, this poor, poor child.  If we keep this up, he’ll be wearing Henry’s used underwear…  “Eh…  He’s the third, it doesn’t matter, just give him the cold, dirty bathwater…”)

I feel like I’m 11 1/2 months pregnant and I’m having to hold the baby’s head in with my hands.

The Mister is finally moving back into his old building this weekend. Remember about 9 or so months ago when a tornado and flooding destroyed it? It’s taken this long to renovate it…

I’m addicted to pumpkin. Starbucks sees me at least three times a week for a Pumpkin Spice Latte and either a piece of pumpkin loaf or a pumpkin cream cheese muffin. I’ve been making pumpkin desserts and visiting Ben & Jerry’s for their pumpkin cheesecake ice cream…  The Big P and I definitely have quite the love affair going on at the moment.  Pumpkin….  Mmmmm…. 

My tummy is so big, that I can’t even get my arms around it to reach downtown, much less get a mirror anywhere in the vicinity, for the major deforestation of the giant redwoods trimming of the hedges…  I seriously gave myself a reverse mohawk last week.  Imagine trying to trim the old girl up all nice and neat while blindly wielding a sharp razor…  Putting your body in very precarious positions, in a slippery ass shower, while lunging desperately to reach around your giant ass belly to places YOU CANNOT SEE, that you know would hurt like a mother fucker if you made one slip up, is not a good time, people.  Not somewhere you want to cut yourself…  I really think the doctor was stifling a laugh when he checked me…  He kind of coughed a bit and gave me a sympathetic pat on the leg.  I mean, not only did I scalp myself in some places and completely miss others, I accidentally bought those cheap ass razors with no lubricant strip…  So I had dried blood droplets and smears everywhere.  What a pretty sight that must have been.  I’m still battling the excruciating razor burn.  But at least I didn’t cut anything important…

I have an ultrasound Thursday so we can estimate how big this baby is…  I’m thinking he has to be 13 pounds already.  Maybe 15.

Mmmmm…  I just thought of something yummier than pumpkin…

 

Avery is leaving Thursday to go to the beach for four days.  I’m going to miss her soooo badly.  And worry about her.  But, I know she’ll have fun.

After having these mammoth D cup tittays, I think the boob job will be coming a lot sooner…  The Mister will be pushing for it pronto.  And I’m going to be pushing for a tummy tuck to go along with it.  Especially since the massive belly completely drawfs the big tittays, so they don’t look big at all.  I have them, but I can’t tell I have them…  I want to SEE those things…  See them and enjoy them.  And just imagine what that big ass belly will look like when it deflates…  If I’m going to have rocking mammoth boobies permanently, I want a rocking flat tummy to go with them.  No post-c-section gelatinous muffin top.  Let me rock that two piece, please. 

Let’s see….  What else is going on in Shannieland…  Nothing of importance.  Not that any of the above is of any super importance to anyone besides me…  And in the case of the boobs, the Mister…  But, there ya go.  An update from a major slacker.  I should win an award for my slack-assedness.  It’s been almost a month since I’ve blogged.  A MONTH.  If I wait another month, I’ll be in the hospital having this kid!  (And sipping on an ice cold beer that Mister snuck in while eating my cafeteria turkey and dressing.) 

And just for good measure… 

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