Fatigue- Day 258

According to daystogo.com I have been pregnant for approximately 258 days.
Let me reiterate that...TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY-EIGHT DAYS. Which, on the happy side, means I have only 21 days to go. (Assuming he isn't late-and trust me, we're assuming that.)
Those 258 days have left me tired of a great many things and today, on day two-hundred and fifty-eight, I am airing greivances.
But first, I will begin by saying some things that have been good about my pregnancy, lest you think me ungrateful.
First and foremost, without even asking for one...I was blessed with a baby. Praise the Lord. :)
Second, as far as we know he's healthy.
We made it to 37 weeks which means he would be perfectly fine living on the outside were he born today (and he's in position to be delivered, my cervix is soft and had dilated some by last week.)
I have only gained 21 pounds.
NO stretch marks. You can just take my word on that.
NO high or low blood pressure, no obvious swelling in extremeties.
Beta strep and gestational diabetes screening were negative.
I'll stop there, but that is by no means the extent of my blessing counting. It's just all I'm going to bore you with.
Now- on to the ranting. Honestly, it isn't the being pregnant, per se, that is the problem at all. That (and all the physical stuff that comes with it) while not wholly pleasant-and a few of those unpleasantries made the ranting list, they have been pretty easily tolerated. It's the other stuff that's worse...
For instance- I don't want to hear from one more person that (and I quote) "having a baby changes everything". What kind of dimwit would I have to be not to know that? I also don't want to be told again that little boys are a handful. I'm almost 26 years old. Believe it or not, I've encountered children before...and many of them were male. I do not want to be approached anymore by strangers who offer comments to which there is no or only an awkward response. Like yesterday, I'm in a Shell station at the Icee machine and a middle-aged man stops on his way from the refrigerator case to the cash register. He points (with the hand not holding a six pack of Shiner Bock) at my stomach and says "Looks like this is about to happen any day!" Why must he do this? I think. What do I say to that? So I explain (without turning away from the fixing of my Icee) that I have about three more weeks. To which he tells me that they will be the longest three weeks of my life! The nerve of some people. I also find that people like to point out that I'm "really pregnant", too. Like I'm unaware. That's equally difficult to respond to. I am also tired of having to discuss my dog with people. I've grown weary of the smug reminders that I'll think less of him when the baby is born. As though we'll bring Soda home and suddenly forget that we've loved this dog like a person for more than three years and that he's been my constant (and I do mean 24/7 constant) companion and best friend for all that time. No one tells a woman expecting her second child how much less she'll love her first when that second is born. If you want to discuss Gatsby, you can give me advice about assimilating the baby into our existing family...(though that's not really necessary because I've done extensive reading on the subject and discussed this at length with his vet.) And, finally, I am extremely tired of being told how little sleep I'm going to get once the baby is born. Oh, please. Anyone who thinks I'm sleeping now has never been 37 weeks pregnant.
I am tired of not being able to pick things up off the floor easily.
I am tired of making lists and trying to cover every little detail of the house and the nursery and the hospital stay and bringing him home.
I am tired of doctor's appointments.
I am tired of dripping food on my shirt every time I eat because I cannot get close enough to the table.
I am tired of peeing ALL THE TIME.
I am tired of trying to think up a name for the baby...and of not being able to decide...and of explaining to people we still don't have one.
I am tired of avoiding coffee and mexican food and wine.
I am tired of heartburn.
I am tired of never being truly comfortable.

And I am tired of being tired...but not so much of being pregnant, per se. ;)

As before, this is by no means the extent of my ranting, either...it's just all I'll bore you with.

Sincerely,

Fatigued in Longview