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All I Want For Christmas Is A....

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Come to Mama....

La-Z-Boy. You heard it. Except I don’t really want it for Christmas. I wanted it four days ago.

And I’m not talking about one of those sleek, redesigned models the recliner icon is distributing these days using Brooke Shields’ mug. I want the heavily tufted one that’s planted in front of your grandfather’s television with crocheted doilies on the padded arms and three glorious recline positions.

My only caveat: no vinyl. If it comes with massage and heating options, even better.

So, what’s behind this rash holiday wish? The last few nights have been far from restful. Aside from the normal, labored side-to-side rolling that takes place throughout the sleep of a seven-months-pregnant woman, lately I’ve been awakened by that terrible and all-too-familiar burning sensation near my clavicle.

That’s right. I’ve been re-introduced to my old friend, Heartburn, and he’s making sleep a chore instead of a treat. My fellow blogger recently questioned what’s worse: morning sickness or heartburn, and I’ll tell you which side of that argument I fall on. My heartburn is the kind that leads to nausea anyway. The handful of extra-extra strength Tums I place on my nightstand before bed disappear long before the sun rises. The stack of cushions keeping me upright crumbles every hour or so—and I’m not getting much shut-eye in that position, anyway.

I’ve stopped snacking after 8 p.m. I’ve been saying “no” to carbonated and fattier foods—especially at dinner. I don’t eat large meals. I even switched prenatal vitamins. And yet, the progesterone is still getting the better of me. I think it might be time to ask the doc about a prescription, but I’m highly nervous about taking medication, even doctor-okayed.

In the meantime, I’m keeping my eye on the prize. No, not the La-Z-Boy, though it would keep my engorged body cocooned and propped comfortably upright—and even give me a massage or two when I can’t seem to fall back asleep after using the bathroom (again) at 4:30 a.m.

I know genuine relief is only going to come from the arrival of my real, most-hoped-for Christmas present: a baby girl due around the second week of December. By then, I’m sure my heart will only be melting.

And I still haven’t met a La-Z-Boy that can bring that on.

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