Law Students

Uff Da

By Anonymous

I don't know how prevalent the word "uff da" (according to Wikipedia, also known as uff-da, uffda, uff-dah, oofda, ufda, ufdah, oofta or ufta) is outside of my family, but it is a marvelous Scandinavian phrase that can be used in many circumstances.

For example, when you get a new assignment to review a depo transcript for certain admissions and you open up the PDF to find that it's 400 pages long- Uff da. Or, when you check your credit card bill thinking it should be low because you haven't left the house in days but then remember all that online shopping done from your couch- Uff da. Or, when you go to pick something up only to find it's 3x heavier than you predicted- Uff da. It can be used in so many situations.

And it pretty well sums up how I feel at 34.5 weeks pregnant. I've noticed that I say it a lot lately. But when getting up off the couch takes momentum and skill and maybe a few false starts- it's the perfect expression, besides cursing, which I try not to do around Landon. And Landon has picked it up (which reinforces why I can't curse)! This morning when he was redecorating his playroom by moving his big red chair, I heard a little "uff da" float down the hall. It cracked me up - hearing your own phrases come out of your toddler's mouth has got to be one of my top five favorite things about being a parent.

(not relevant, but I love this picture from yesterday)

But back to me and the uff-da-ness of pregnancy. I am DONE. I feel huge. I am huge. My belly is a giant roadblock in the middle of my body. I can't lean over to pick things up without knocking into its immovable barrier. When I want to switch the slide I'm sleeping on at night, I have slowly rotate the belly until it reaches the halfway point and then I can let gravity roll me the rest of the way. If I accidentally flip on my back I wake up gasping for air because my lungs are being squished by my 20 lb. baby (yes, she's 20 lbs., it's the only way my total weight gain makes sense). Fewer and fewer of my maternity clothes fit and even sitting on the couch while reading a book is getting uncomfortable. I miss being skinny, I miss my waist, I miss my old clothes. I miss sex. I miss feeling sexy. Instead, I feel big and blah and whiny and done.

But I am not done. I have 4 weeks and 5 days to go. And after having a premature baby who lived in the NICU for two weeks, I know that I don't really want my baby girl to arrive early. Even when sometimes I do.

But really I don't. 33 days to go. Uff-da.

Full post as published by Lag Liv on May 02, 2010 (boomark / email).