7 months pregnant is just the point where you don't really want to be pregnant anymore. It's the point where you look for shortcuts, parking spaces in the front of the lot, leave the things you drop, and start craving upcoming dirty diapers over big boobs.
7 months pregnant is when you become too big to move quickly, too round to bend, too full to eat, to tired to move, too fat to still look cute in the trendy maternity clothes, and too shocked to be depressed when you notice a remarkable resemblance to Humpty Dumpty.
At this point in your pregnancy, any way to help ease your discomfort is a welcomed and blessed one.
Last Sunday, I was at the grocery store, too big to shop, and saw something that would make my life in the weekday mornings just a little easier...."Lunchables".
Now for all you moms who swore you would never use a lunchable for your kid, you should probably stop reading this. I felt the same thing about lunchables and years ago vowed to never use them, thinking: "Surely I can take the time to make a healthy lunch for my beautiful daughter. I mean how lazy could I really be?"
However - now - at this round point in my life - I suddenly had a change of heart. Lazy sounded great and lunchables sounded even better. Maybe they were god's secret gift to mom's who have to get their spunky 3 year old ready for school while being a weary 7 months pregnant.
Feeling guilty, but admittedly relieved at one less morning ritual, I grabbed a two-pack. I must say in my lazy defense that at least I did not get the real crappy kind. You know the fake pizza kind with chocolate and cookies. I think I redeemed myself by opting for the sodium-filled, processed crackers, turkey and cheese.
Bad - but it could be worse. I had managed to barely scratch the surface of "mom slackdomville."
I brought the lunchables home - excited about the day when I would realize walking out the door that I had forgotten to make my daughter's lunch. The day when I could easily grab my brilliantly thought-out, back-up plan. The day of the convenient lunchables.
The next morning, I wake up to the birds singing outside my window and slowly roll (And I mean literally roll because my stomach muscles have "left the building". Oh, and by the way, in case you are wondering, I intentionally used the word "building" to describe my current physical state. Blocky, rigid and very, very noticeable).
I walked out into the kitchen and saw that my sweet husband (who rubs my feet, listens to me complain about my growing belly, and still tells me I am beautiful) has thoughtfully packed my daughter's lunch for school. Thank goodness. I smile to myself and think "he is so sweet" while I make a mental note to call and thank him for giving me have one less thing to do when I am teetering on being 30 pounds up and still growing.
Curious, I peek in the bag to see what adorable and delicious meal my sexy man - who gourmet cooks for me frequently - has packed for his little "fairy princess".
I gasp at the contents of her lunch and cry, "Oh no he di-int!"
My dear husband - who now I remembered snored all night keeping me up - packed a "Lunchable"!
How is this fair?
The "lunchable" was my back-up plan for the days when I was forgetful and unorganized. The days that seemed more overwhelming than others. The days when I was bigger than the day before. And for all those other days where I - as the 7 month pregnant building - just wanted to be fat and lazy.
The "lunchable" was NOT for the hubby to use. The hubby who gets to take a hot shower EVERY morning, the hubby who jumps in his BMR for a nice cozy turbo-ride to work. The hubby who gets to listen to NPR and not singing Elmos. The hubby who gets to be intellectual and cool at work while talking with adults. The hubby who does not have to play dress-up for the "umpteenth" time.
Overreacting, I stubbornly take out the lunchable and save it for another day - this time hiding it in the BACK of refrigerator next to the Arm & Hammer box that has kept my refridgerator fresh for at least a year. I grumble as I slave over packing a nutritious lunch with chicken, carrots and applesauce. Then, I steam for a while ranting and raving around the house, "how dare he...I'm the pregnant one!"
(What can I say - if i can CARRY a big baby- I think I am allowed to ACT like one too.)
I suddenly think to myself, "Geez, I must have way too much time on my hands."
I mean, I should just relax. My hubby works very hard for our family. He does so much for me and my daughter and is a wonderful husband. Maybe he deserves a break today.
The stubborn baby in me cries out, "Just not MY break."
My inner-child whispers back, "If he likes them so much, next time I'll just be even MORE lazy and save a lunchable for his dinner."
"Hi honey, how was your day?"
"Good, what's for dinner?"
"How about a lunchable? Munch up!"
(Note: No husbands were bitched at, injured, killed, or starved during the writing of this blog.)