Oh my god, I just realized the creepy floating baby to the right is now in double digits, not triple anymore.
And I was reading a story about this lady who developed toxemia and delivered at 33 weeks, and I was saying to Danny: imagine if that was us, that would be 6 weeks from now.
The changing table, crib mattress, and the bassinet are out in the hall. I am only 1/5 of the way done with moving my closet out of the baby's future room and into our room. There are clothes everywhere, most of which I am giving away anyway. There are bills that I haven't filed, a few months worth, in a pile on a desk that is supposed to be gone from the baby's room entirely. Stevie is still too bad to be within 50 yards of a newborn. I need to balance the checkbook. I haven't caught up on all my US Weeklys. I need to paint my toenails. I got two new cds that I haven't even opened yet. I am not ready for this kid to come! I just need eight or nine more trimesters.
On the other hand, I couldn't take any more trimesters. I have felt like crap for weeks and weeks (and weeks) now. I am just now heading into my third trimester and I can't wait for it to be over. I just want to sleep every single minute. I am over being pregnant, the same way I was over being pregnant at about 9 weeks. I feel bad saying that because it is supposed to be such a special time blah blah blah, and it is in a way of course, but in another way, it is such a SUCKY time. This baby better be cute after all this crap!
