50% Effaced.

After about a month of feeling really, really healthy and letting myself getting sort of cocky about that fact, I'm starting to notice the all-too-familiar pangs and pains of Crohn's again. I've spent the past few days trying to determine if that god-awful dull ache I feel around my stomach is because of my disease or just the baby's way of saying hi, Mom. (I think the former.)

I've dealt with stomach pain for pretty much my entire conscious life. I'd like to say I'm a pro at masking discomfort. I've trained myself to smile when it hurts. And it's this little charade that worries me about pregnancy, because I've spent so long perfecting the art of ignoring pain that I tend to do just that--ignore it.

I think I've even thought to myself--maybe even said it out loud--that whenever, one day in the distant future, I have a baby, labor pains will hardly phase me. Thanks to a lifetime of digestive disease. It's one of those things that you know isn't true even when you're saying it, but if I've had to spend a good portion of my public life worrying about where the nearest bathrooms are, I figured the least I could do is make myself out to be some sort of tough-as-nails girl because of it.

The truth is, I'm terrified of labor. And pain. I had surgery in my teens to remove some of my intestines, and I remember waking up from the anesthetic too early and feeling the sensation of a fresh incision across my lower abdomen. I remember that pain. And I remember that I never, ever wanted to be in that kind of pain again.

I told all of this to my doctor today at my 35 week appointment. She checked me to make sure my recent problems haven't been causing any dilation (answer: no dilation but already 50% effaced, and her head's down really, really low).

I can't believe it's been nine months. But just the same I can't believe I have at least 3, maybe 5, maybe 6 weeks left to go. I'm so excited I can't stand it. And I'm so ready to put this pain-guessing game behind me and focus on being her mom.

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The 2009 Murfreesboro Blizzard.

I remember a lot of things about the first year we moved to Murfreesboro, Tennessee. I remember the front page headline on The Daily News Journal when it arrived on our doorstep the first time. "Man Has Sex With Horse." And I'm not kidding. It was a big scandal.

And I remember back then--I was about to start second grade--wondering what the hell our parents had gotten us into. 'Cuz see, back then I was a big time city slicker from the likes of Memphis, where a man having sex with his horse didn't warrant front page news.

(For all of Murfreesboro's faults, I will say it has come--along with its local journalism--a long way since then.)

I also remember the snow coming that year. And it really, really came. I think we got around 10 inches.

Since then, nothing has even come close. And the weather people love to hype up the chances. This past weekend, all anyone could talk about was the huge blizzard approaching Middle Tennessee. I went to Kroger to buy light bulbs and people were seriously, legitimately crowding the checkout lanes to stock up on eggs and water and toilet paper.

Then the big day came, and the flurries started to fall. They fell for about two hours in Murfreesboro and then got lazy and moved on. All of the county schools were closed Thursday. Today, too.

Jason and I ventured onto our back deck, braving the torrential downpour, just to get a shot of my 35 week bump, which--if the checkout lady at Kroger is to be believed--is, like, ohmygod so huge. (It is.)

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Goodbye, 2009.

Since I can't get drunk or wear a wild outfit or stay out into the wee hours of the morning this December 31st, I'll go back to the holiday's roots and examine my year. Because it's been a weird one. A game-changing, crazy, intense, challenging one.

Just the highlights: I graduated from college. Jason and I moved in together, in Nashville. I got my first "real" job. Jason proposed. I said yes. I turned 23. Five months after Jason proposed, I found out I was pregnant. And the rest, as you know if you read this blog, has revolved around coming to grips with, preparing for, mourning, and celebrating that turn of events.

Tonight, Jason and I are getting takeout. I'm going to try my hardest to stay awake until midnight. We have The Hangover to watch. I've been trying hard to decide whether or not tonight is the night I allow myself a glass--or half--of wine. (At our anniversary dinner, I decided I was going to order a glass and only drink half, and it was a hard decision to come to. As our waiter was walking us to our table, he asked if we needed a wine list, took one look at my stomach and interrupted himself to say, "Woops, no wine for you!" Needless to say, I lost the courage to ask him for that list, after all.)

To kick off the festivities we cleaned the apartment, which might not sound too fun and sounds even more pathetic when I write it out. But now I get to watch Jason pretend to beat up the vacuum cleaner to appease a barking Louie who's declared it his mortal enemy. And that makes it worth it.

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The waiting game part 2.

I'm really not a fan of the unknown. And I guess no one really is, in the sense that there might be actual fans of not-knowing out there, but I think I might just be a little more wary than the average person. I've never been able to really go with the flow--even with, um, medicinal help. I always have a compulsion to figure it all out now.

But that goes against the entire point of pregnancy, doesn't it? Because God or who/whatever dreamed up this whole scheme really seemed to be getting some sort of kick out of placing such a big, gaping, albeit temporary hole in the minds' of half the species. Men, you figure out how to hunt the animals. Women, you deal with nine months of increasing discomfort all the while wildly guessing what the hell is going on with your body and what's about to literally pop out of it. When you think about it too much it just seems entirely unfair, but there's nothing unique about that thought. When it comes to pregnancy, women carry the burden, or load, or for those who consider themselves enlightened with the natural order of things--the gift of childbirth.

More than any pregnancy-inspired ache or discomfort, the main annoyance of this ordeal so far has been the not knowing. I want a crystal ball, and I want it with a side of Tums.

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33 weeks, 2 days.

I'm having one of those days when everything feels way too hard. At the moment I'm bored. All of Adelyn's clothes have been washed and put away. Dinner's already been cooked. The millionth novel has been read and the dogs have been walked.

This is what I've been afraid of. I'm letting myself think too much, and I'm getting swept up in a flurry of hormones and fears and worries and I just have to be honest, world. I have no clue what I'm going to do. I'm going to be a mother, that's decided. I have a month or less until that happens. I'm going to spend another few months figuring out how to do that, while Jason goes off to work and supports us. And I could never fully express how much I appreciate him, and how lucky I am to have a partner that allows me to focus on just figuring out motherhood for a bit.

But then what? It seems that everyone has an opinion on what I should be doing.What's fair to Jason, to Adelyn, to me. I've had millions of opinions thrown at me. And I can no longer hear my own.

I'm either letting the hormones get the best of me or I really am in the midst of my lowest point yet in this pregnancy. I've been so busy with preparing for Adelyn, and now that the last teeny sock has been washed and put away, I'm looking around and not recognizing anything.

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The waiting game.

I've been dreading tomorrow.

Starting Monday my calendar is stark white, save a few noted doctor's appointments and pregnancy milestones. The baby shower has come and gone faster than I can believe. Christmas, too. Tonight is me and Jason's sixth anniversary, but after that celebration it's just a game of waiting. Waiting for Adelyn, contractions and water breakage. I've stocked up on books and movies and things to do to get ready for arrival, but essentially all I'll be doing is twiddling my thumbs. And patience is not--and has never been--a gift of mine. Deep down I still sometimes feel like the same tempestuous little girl I was growing up. "I want it NOW!" used to be a motto of mine (sorry, mom and dad).

But this whirlwind week has been wonderful. I got to spend time with my best friend Meagan. My baby shower was above and beyond anything I could have asked for. It's amazing to know that my little girl is already so surrounded by love. We got everything we need and stuff we didn't even know we needed, and after many hours of work yesterday it's all been put away and organized in her nursery (pictures to come soon of that finished project--we're just waiting on one last component).

My sister and another best friend, Morgan, were able to make it in from New York just in time, too, despite the blizzard. My sister got me and Adelyn way too much stuff, including a onesie that says "My Crazy Aunt Lives in Brooklyn." Too perfect.

And spending real time with Meagan--and on this visit, since I'm, you know, pregnant, we did more sitting around and just talking than we usually get to--really reminded me of who I am and wanted to be before this whole baby thing started. She's already so successful and we've always shared the same ambition and drive, so it was great--and necessary--to voice my fears and wants and hopes for my life outside of this baby to someone who's known me since I insisted on spelling my name "Sara" (I thought dropping the "h" individualized it a bit) and had a habit of making up the most grandiose lies to impress my peers. (Meagan decided to continue to be my friend in the second grade even though I told her I had an art studio in my closet at home and a dog I'd taught how to play Nintendo.)

And the baby shower was a chance for most of my good friends to come together--even ones I hadn't seen in years.

Here's my good friend Jasmine feeling Adelyn kick and looking a little afraid.

Me in front of the landslide of gifts. I truly could not put into words how blessed and grateful and overwhelmed I am from everyone's generosity.

A group shot of the girls. From the back left: Melissa, my oldest friend (we met at Girl Scout camp the summer before the second grade), who just graduated from the University of Indiana with two degrees in Voice and English this past Saturday. Peeking her adorable head out in the back is Mary Rose, another dear friend who was an editor with me at Sidelines and now lives in Atlanta. She knit Adelyn a blanket with her name on it that I will honestly cherish forever. In the front from the left-- Swapna, who is actually sort of responsible for this whole shebang since she introduced me to Erin (Jason's sister) back in the 8th grade. Swapna is a Harvard graduate who, as it turns out, is still the exact same acerbically hilarious girl I befriended all those years ago. Next to her, Crystal. One of my best friends since freshman year of high school. And then there's Meagan, my husband friend since the second grade. On the other side of me is Jasmine. Kneeling on the floor is Erin, my sister-in-law to be and Adelyn's aunt. And, also, one of my favorite people in the world. And on the far left, a newer friend, Alisha, who just moved here from New York.

And here they are in all their unposed glory.

And last, me with my big sister and my mother. And, I guess, Adelyn's in that picture, too. Hiding behind the massive bump.

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A Planetary Bump.

I made myself take some pictures tonight-- despite the fact that my stomach now feels so huge that I have to crawl up the stairs on all fours--because I doubt I'll want to again before D-day.

Jason and I got a little crazy on Saturday night. Jason came up with the idea that we should go to Hobby Lobby (mind you, it was already, like, 8 at night) to get supplies to make Adelyn's first scrapbook. So we wandered the aisles of craft central until the store announced it was time for the last call on super glue.

I started putting it together this week, filling each page with all of her ultrasound photos and a few shots of me pregnant and Jason and I before our world was overrun by all-things baby. And I left the last 10 pages blank, for one last look at my planetary mid-section and--hopefully--some shots of us at the hospital when Adelyn makes her grand entrance.

I feel impossibly bigger each day I wake up. We went to the doctor yesterday, where I found out that Adelyn is already 3 pounds, 11 ounces and has a head full of hair that can be clearly seen through a 2d ultrasound and that I'd managed to gain four pounds in a mere five days. Behold the power of Easy Mac for breakfast.

And here's a shot of my poor, tortured furbaby Louie. He got scalped at the groomer's this week thanks to a neglectful mother who hadn't brushed out his mattes in a month. He's embarrassed and ashamed of the new 'do.

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29 Weeks Pregnant.

I remember when it was the fourth of July and I was lamenting that my beer and pool days were over for the summer, thanks to the pregnant interruption. I remember when it was September, and I couldn't believe it was already Fall and I was nearing the second trimester. I remember the week leading up to Halloween, when I was finishing up my last few days of working overnight and I felt like November first--my last day--would never come. I remember thinking about the holidays, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Christmas, New Year's, our six-year anniversary, and Adelyn's due date, and how much stomach stretching and discomfort and gas pains I had yet to come.

And here I sit, Thanksgiving weekend behind me. The day before December, for God's sakes, and I can't for the life of me figure out where all the time went. My 29 week (as of this past Saturday) pregnancy update from BabyCenter.com told me I was in the home stretch. The home stretch! How did this happen?

Just yesterday I was crying on my floor after that ill-fated trip to the toilet at the end of June, wondering how in the world I was going to handle being a mother. Now, I'm in a new apartment--one with an empty room with a freaking changing table in it--and nearly every one of my thoughts is consumed with her, my daughter, Adelyn.

And the fears have changed--it's no longer how am I going to be a mother, but when will we have her nursery done? All of her baby clothes washed? Am I going to rent a breast pump or take the plunge and buy one? Will she be born early or close to her due date? Is my chosen crib in the new list of recalls? Dr. Brown's baby bottles or something else? Is the Boppy really worth the hype, and did I leave anything off my baby registry?

Who have I become? I genuinely would not recognize myself--my thoughts, fears, or body, for that matter--if I'd been able to catch a glimpse back this summer. She's not even here yet, and I already feel like a mother.

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Nesting.

Nesting plus moving into a new apartment plus an already existing obsession with decorating equals one very tired pregnant me.

I've felt like a mad woman this past week. I wake up at 7 a.m., sometimes earlier, and the to-do list starts forming in my mind before my feet even hit the floor. I want things done, and I want them done now.

I try to reason with myself. It's probably not the best idea for someone in her third trimester to attempt to mount that mirror or to rearrange that furniture or to put together that dear god way-too-complicated-to-put-together changing table. But I always give in. If it's too heavy (and, yes, I'm being careful), I find some way to manipulate it into manageability. The mirror goes first onto the chair, with the help of my knee. Then, with a nudge, I lever it onto the table. Then I position it against the wall. And then all it takes is two seconds of lifting and I have it positioned perfectly onto the nails. It would make a lot more sense to, say, wait a few hours for Jason to come home, since he can lift the mirror to the wall in one simple step. But no. I simply cannot wait those few hours because then my baby will be living in a mirror-less, bland, undecorated home and then what sort of mother would I be???

It's starting to feel like some sort of psychosis. While writing this post, I've also ordered Jason a wall-mount for his guitar and found the washer and dryer we're going to buy on Craigslist (I literally can't even shut off the nesting long enough to write for 10 minutes).

I was on my way to get the vacuum when I saw my poor, lonely computer sitting at the desk we put together last night and felt compelled to take the smallest of breaks to clear my mind. And now all I can think about is that I need to vacuum.

For anyone who can remember their inner monologue during pregnancy, I have to ask: am I going crazy or is this, in fact, normal? Or at least normal-ish?

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