Swift kick to the ribs

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photo 1

We have about 10 weeks left. Give or take. I guess in some unconscious way, most of us chose our birthday. Well most of us that came naturally. I know I was a week or so late. I liked the month of July better, I guess.

That should be our last ultrasound, that pic up there. The sky is just a pretty sky and the other pic is me two days ago at 30 weeks, but I already feel bigger. The placenta is good, the baby is head down and wonderful, everything is good and I’m starting to panic, not only when the baby pushes up on my lungs so it’s hard to breathe, but thinking about the labor and how difficult that will be and then how difficult breastfeeding will be the first two weeks (so they say) and then getting on waiting lists for day care that cost more than my rent for a little person I haven’t even met yet. It’s a lot for a brain-dead brain to process.
August is such a busy month for us. Between birthing classes at the hospital and the few Bradley classes we’ll take up in Flagstaff on the weekends and the baby shower at the end of the month and jesus, after so many years of moving all over the damn place, the government finally called me to jury duty THIS MONTH and OB appointments and between all of that I’m supposed to be sleeping more and doing Bradley exercises and working out and WORKING and how do people actually do all these things once a kid comes?! Yikes. We’ll do it. We keep saying we had space in our lives and we do and we’re so damn excited to meet that amazing face up there. I can’t stop staring at that picture. The nose! God, the nose, what a good nose.
Oh geez, we have to get a pediatrician too and I need to get my eyes checked…

What I really want to do is take a nap, eat some doritos with artificial flavors AND colors and drink a beer you can’t see through. *swift kick to the ribs*

PS. my chapbook was rejected on my 30th birthday and for some reason I submitted some poems to a Literary Flash Mob on the Lightrail next month. They are poems about the light rail, written on the light rail, but the lit mag here has already rejected me twice, but says this time they’ll “try to include everyone” so naturally when I’m 8 months pregnant I’m going to have to stand up on a rocking train with a few other poets and read. Or they’ll do me a favor and reject me again because no one calls a poet a poet when they aren’t actively writing poetry i.e. me – who can’t even connect a snail trail to a snail at the moment.

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