Nope, not here yet.
Just a quick post to update, because I apparently somehow never posted that a few weeks ago, my doctor put me on the schedule for a caesarian birth at exactly 38 weeks. Wednesday just happens to be his “delivery” day at the hospital, and also the day that I turn whatever week I am turning. So, 38 weeks will be June 16th, and that is the day when I will deliver. Unless the boys decide to arrive before then, of course. But it very well looks like June 16th will be the day. I’m chalking it up to preggo brain, because I distinctly remember posting something about the date, but apparently, I didn’t.
So. June 16th.
Seven. More. Days.
Twins born under Gemini, though. That’s kinda cool.
As I said before, my parents are in town. Despite my best effort to keep everything low key, I seem to be doing an awful lot of running around, and I am TIRED. Today, I had to pick them up from the Hyundai dealership where they had dropped their car for service. We then went back to their apartment for a bit, then to the mall, then to lunch, then to a bookstore, and now finally home. I. am. tired.
Oh, yeah. Pregnant criminal…
On Monday afternoon, I was visiting my parents at the apartment that they are subletting for the summer. And because they had just moved in the day prior, they were not yet listed in the directory that one would use to dial a resident and be “buzzed in” to their building. So I’m standing there at the door, about to call my parents, when an older couple walks out through the door. The female half of the couple sees me standing there in my 36w5d pregnant glory, punching through the directory keypad thing fruitlessly trying to find my parents’ listing, and gives me the shifty-eyed, nervous look, while forcefully shoving the glass door closed behind her. I (being late pregnant and thus, feeling free to be a total asshole) sarcastically tell her, “Thanks. I really appreciate that.” She informs me that they aren’t allowed to let anyone in the building, and I just roll my eyes at her. Because REALLY. What the fuck am I going to do inside the building? I am either going to walk into the lobby and… um, sit on a couch? Look at the locked mailboxes? Walk out the other door on the other side of the building? Joyride up and down 17 floors on an elevator? Stare intently at the marble floor? What?!?
OR, I am going to heft my enormous pregnant ass slowly across their marble floors to get on the elevator and go to visit the people I am legitimately there to see. Seriously. Anyhow, H (who is having some issues with aggression lately… don’t know what’s up with that, other than the fact that he is seriously freaked out by the impending birth of these boys and can’t seem to process the emotions appropriately…) decides to smart off to this older couple as well, saying that we were there to visit my PARENTS, and they sing-songedly reply that I should just call them and have them come and let me in. Which just really pissed me off, but frankly, I had made my point through my sarcasm, that I was clearly no kind of smooth criminal, that their actions, singling me out as some sort of suspicious up-to-no-gooder were totally off-base, so I really had nothing else to say. But H just starts yelling about how they are RUDE, RUDE PEOPLE, etc. yelling, blah, blah, jerks, etc. And I have to tell him to stop yelling at them, because they can’t help it if they are jerks, that they are just being who they are, which is people who prefer rules to common human kindness and courtesy.
And ten seconds later, another person walks up, just as I had finally reached my mom via cell phone, and says, “Oh, do you guys need to get in?” and I thanked her and walked in as she held the door for me… So clearly, even if it is a building policy that you don’t let people in through the doors, these old fuckers were just trying to be assholes, because other people saw me and obviously came to the conclusion that I must be legit, rules or not.
Which supports my point that old people either COMPLETELY LOVE or COMPLETELY HATE pregnant women. And most seem to be in the “completely hate” category (but there is always the odd old woman who likes to pat the belly or ask about the babies, etc.). And I think it has something to do with the competitiveness of protected classes. They want to be the only one about whom people make a fuss or extend a courtesy. They see no reason to offer kindness to someone else, because in the Pain Olympics, THEY SHOULD WIN, DAMMIT, DON’T YOU KNOW, you whippersnapper, YOU!!! Never mind that they’ve had years and years and years to grow accustomed to whatever physical limitations they may have, or that I think I could legitimately argue that I am FAR more disabled at this point than either member of this particular couple were. I should bow down and kiss the ground they walk on, just because they exist and they are OLD! I mean, I don’t expect people to kiss my ass because I am pregnant– I really don’t– but I do prefer that people do not go out of their way to make my life more difficult, by, say, forcefully shutting a door behind them, while looking at me like I’m some sort of homicidal maniac out to get them.
Whatever. It is what it is, but I just found it completely stupid that, physically, I’ve never been more obviously handicapped, more non-threatening, than I am at this exact moment, and this is when these fucktards decide that I am, apparently, worthy of sidelong glares and complete suspicion. Stupid.
Anyhow, thirty seven weeks pregnant. One more week to go!