Although 32 weeks is not really a very long time to be growing a person from scratch, sometimes it feels like an eternity.

I'm trying to be as patient as possible and remind myself that this is a very special time when I get to have baby all to myself and be bonded in an incredible way, and that honestly, life is going to change in a very big and very real way as soon as she's out, but I still find myself crossing off the days on the calendar, and wanting time to go faster. There are a couple of reasons that I'm feeling impatient at this point.

Firstly, and most importantly, I really want to see who Mark and I made. I want to meet this tiny person and see her face and not just imagine her as generic Asian baby girl (or possibly boy.)

Secondly, even though the third trimester hasn't reached the point of me begging the universe to get this baby out of me every waking moment, my body is starting to to make this face at me: 😑

I feel like a beached whale when I try to get up out of our bed (because our bed is a mattress on the floor) - I flop halfway off the mattress so my knees are on the ground and my hands are on the mattress, push my hands off the mattress and pull myself up using the window sill, and keep my legs wide for a low center of gravity as I stagger forward making low keening sounds. My lungs are hanging out somewhere in my shoulders which is actually fine since they are the size of golf balls now. I also have to pee ALL THE TIME as baby is using my bladder as a pillow, and she likes to snuggle.

Lastly, I want this baby out because I miss eating whatever I want. Yes, seriously. Every day that passes that there isn't an oyster in my mouth and a glass of wine in my hand is a day that I begrudge Mark his carefree relationship with food. I was doing so well up until about week 28, being all like, "well it's really not that long, and it's not that hard to adjust my diet for this tiny miracle we're making...I'm fine, really, no no, have another 3 bottles of wine guys, I'm really enjoying this water...oh, there's mayo on that? shoot, well I guess I'll have this boiled chicken. Can you make sure that the kitchen actually boils the chicken? Thanks."

I miss you SO MUCH. — I miss you ***SO MUCH.***

It was really easy in the first trimester, because I hated food and hated being awake and so passed the days in a glorious haze of crackers and naps. It was not terrible in the second trimester because I was still deluding myself into thinking I didn't care about not eating and drinking things that I love. However, in the third trimester, I have come round to the self-realization that the consumption of food and beverage is a huge part of who I am - it's a part of my identity. Is it more important that this baby? Obviously not (probably.) But it's still really difficult. I've never walked into a restaurant, and been scared of food poisoning. Ever. I've actually probably actively courted food poisoning in my past. (Who orders an $8 seafood dish in the middle of winter at a slow, terrible Mexican restaurant in Seattle during the middle of a power outage?) But now I'm all suspicious, like, "huh, I wonder how long their _____ has been sitting out. Probably awhile. They have a salad? I bet they don't wash their greens properly. That 19 year old guy just scratched the inside of his ear and went back to plating. $100 says he does NOT wash his hands properly after using the restroom, if, at all." And I hate being this person. This paranoid-at-restaurants-bitter-at-normal-people-for-eating-food-I-want-to-eat person. I've actually asked Mark to not drink at home, which, at the beginning of pregnancy I promised I wouldn't do because I'm not that high maintenance, demanding kind of girlfriend (right?), and also, I'm not an alcoholic and the sight of Mark having a drink shouldn't drive me to despair. But apparently, at only about 8 weeks left, my loving forbearance has been used up. And let me clarify things a little bit. It's not like the last 8 months I've been around people cracking Bud Lights and eating hot dogs and have been burning with an deep inner fire of all consuming envy. We've had a couple of lovely visitors stay with us, and we also are friends with chefs who are, obviously really into exceptional wine. Mark is obviously really into exceptional wines. Every time we go out, there are multiple amazing bottles, and with each new bottle, the conversation usually ranges itself around the vinyard, and the guy who made it, and how amazing it is with lots of noises like "uuuuooohhhhh, WOW. WOW. That. Is. Delicious. Oh my god, are you getting that? Wait, wait, it gets better. WOW. WOoooooOOOooow." And I take a swig of my herbal tea and fake-smile. So to be fair, I've had to not drink a lot of really good wine, and also cut out a lot of foods that I used to eat fairly regularly, with great joy. And I hit a wall.

Anyways, I made a list of the meals I am planning on eating once this beloved baby girl is no longer physically tied to me by blood.

Here it is:

Charcuterie, an assortment. As many as can be assorted. Also, pate. Served with bread, mustard, pickles, and mold ripened, soft cheeses. Unpasteurized, if possible.
2 dozen oysters and champagne.
One extremely rare steak and a huge glass of red wine.
A cold cut Italian sub sandwich. (Mark says this is the same as charcuterie, but he's wrong. It's different.)
Sushi and sashimi. Most notably, otoro, mackerel and uni.
Fro-yo and soft serve ice cream.
Eggs Benedict.
All the coffee in the world.
Beef tartare.
Chocolate chip cookie dough.
Bagel with cream cheese, lox, and sprouts.
A glass of bourbon/scotch/mezcal.
A chili-cheese dog with sour cream and onions.

Anticipation