Holy Shit. From here on out, the countdown is in single digit weeks. That’s weird!
I don’t have a whole lot to update on, but somehow 30 weeks feels milestone worthy . . .is that true? I mean, the third trimester is established, and it’s not like some kind of developmental line was crossed. Maybe it’s just a fondness for multiples of 10?
The most exciting thing is that I got my hair done! (yeah. I’m serious. is that depressing?) BFFBF (aka: our donor’s boyfriend) is in hair school, which means access to a fabulous hairdresser for very little money – a real boon for the fashion forward bohemian income level soon-to-be mother. Around the time we got pregnant, I made an unofficial decision to start growing my hair out (it’s been somewhere between very short and short since I was a sophomore in college) and with it, see the extent to which I have gone gray. I’m only 33 but my mom was solidly salt-and-pepper by 40 and full on silver fox by 45, so I knew it was coming. Indeed, as my locks have gotten longer, so too have the hardy chunks and definitive streaks of gray made themselves known. I wanted to know what the damage was, but also to learn to embrace it. The hair color train is hard to get off when you’re an early turner in the gray department; leaving hair color after a certain point means embracing not just the silver but the skunk part.
Which I don’t wanna do. So I thought: get over it now while it’s still new and subtle, and avoid heartbreak later. Unfortunately, unlike my mom who had naturally very dark brown hair, mine is a nondescript medium-brown which, when supplemented with gray, just looks ashy and gross. And I am 30 weeks pregnant and feeling frumpy isn’t exactly difficult to do under the best circumstances. So, I said fuck it and told BFFBF to do as he wanted, and he did. I haven’t been able to get the best picture yet, but its a really lovely combination of red and copper and blonde highlights. And I feel way less frumpy. And way less old. I’m already freaking out about being someone’s mother so I don’t need the premature gray to complicate that, you know?
I also had a really intense dream about having a miscarriage, except in the dream I was only 14 weeks pregnant. (I don’t mean only in any dismissive way, just that it’s less pregnant than I am now) and it really hit me kind of hard. As soon as I gained enough awareness to realize where I was, Seafoam gave me a good switch punch to the pelvis, which was relief. But dreams like that are terrifying. I’ve come to the realization that there is no end to worry now that this little being is here. No end to the thought that the other shoe might drop. But I think the spaces between the worries are getting bigger. And good swift kicks help maintain perspective.
Gotta run to hypnobabies class! Here’s 30 weeks!