Dear Baby,

Really, I can tell that you are all comfy cozy and stuff but I, strangely, am not. When you snuggle down into your little womb punching my uterus into just the right shape, I get a little testy. Especially because most of the time you are punching my very private parts from the inside and that just feels weird.

I am ready for you to come out. See:



I have pretty toes. Everyone assures me that once you get the pedicure the baby will follow. I even splurged and got cute little flowers.

Is that not enough? What about the gorgeous weather that we are having right now?



Your older brother would really like you to come out and hang, and I wouldn't mind having my own personal heater removed from my torso. You are the opposite of central A/C. I told him that you would be coming soon, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week. He said "No want the baby sister comin' next week, want her comin' tomorrow." Ditto for the rest of us.

I have even turned to substituting other objects that are your approximate size and weight:



I am obviously desperate. Help me out here.

Not to mention the multitude of people who obviously view June 30th as some sort of magic day - I have had more phone calls in the last 24 hours than I have the entire previous 9 months. I want to be able to tell them something.

Please come out.

Love,
Yer Mama
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Dear Hospital that is sending me weekly emails,

This is not funny:



Sincerely,
Mama Grouch

I have been tired, cranky, cranky and tired. I pick battles with the Creep that are not worth picking, and he and I have both been driven to tears more than once over something as minor as putting on his shoes (or the fact that he took them off 10 seconds after I had finally gotten them on him...no mean feat with a belly as big as mine).

Luckily, the EP stepped up to the plate and has been helping out so much that once or twice I have even felt like a normal person. Generally we split up kiddo duties pretty evenly, but recently EP has been the primary parent from Friday evening until Sunday afternoon, including all meals and nap/bedtime routines. I find that on Monday mornings the Creep and I get along wonderfully and I have so much more energy to deal with the little stuff. Evenings that used to be my responsibility are now often "family nights" and the EP does his own stuff after putting the kiddo to bed. Makes me tear up just thinking about how tired I would be if he wasn't helping out so much.

Father's day weekend the EP took the Creep on his very first over night camping trip (that is the picture at the top) and they had a blast. I took myself out to dinner and slept in. It was terrific.

Thanks babe.*

*Even though I know it is partially in self defense because I am a bit of a monster when I don't get a break, I still appreciate it.

I am compiling a list, the hard way, of things that I will no longer do before this baby makes her debut:

1. I will no longer invite anyone over to my house. I will, with much gratitude, accept any and all invitations to playdates at other people's houses, for lunch, for trips to the park, but I will not be doing housework until this is all over so no one sets foot through my front door (unless they are holding a vacuum cleaner).

2. No critical thinking. This includes making any sort of decision about what to eat beyond a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, what to do with my day other than watching 20 episodes of Curious George, and any and all math. I will gratefully allow anyone to lead me to good food as long as I can hand them a $20 and they hand me back change (or not, I am easy).

3. No stopping to 'pick something up' on the way home. I don't care if it is a cup of coffee or some other life saving item, I just Will Not Do It.

4. No walking to Dairy Queen by myself with a toddler on a bike on a stick. Really, this one needs no explanation.

5. No getting down on my hands and knees to draw on the sidewalk with chalk Many thanks to Gwyneth for stopping me before I learned this one the hard way. I might still be down on my hands and knees.

The list is growing; every day I add something new and interesting that should Have Been Obvious but somehow Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time. I have gone so far as to encourage the people around me to suggest items for my list when they see me About To Do Something Stupid...like Gwyneth with item #5. I actually went so far as to discuss with the EP why he didn't use much more forceful language before the Dairy Queen debacle. Really, saying "are you sure that is a good idea?" is just not enough. There needed to be something along the lines of "Are you F'ing CRAZY?" coming my way.

I confronted the EP yesterday on this disturbing picture of Ronald Reagan that I found on his laptop. Why? Just...why? Ronald Reagan? An anti-socialized medicine poster? Why? Why?

"Because Ronny had the best hair that ever was," says my stylin' husband.

I love my man.

As you can see, things are progressing swimmingly around here - for the given definition of:

swim·ming·ly [swim-ing-lee]: stretch marks have stretch marks, forget on average of 10 words per conversation, cries every time something is forgotten at the top of the stairs


***Warning, Squeamish Technical Terms Used in Following Post***

Last week I had my first cervical exam and began the obligatory weekly visits to the midwives. I was chipper when I went in, having been assured by my neighbor that it looked like the baby "had dropped" and I had been waddling around in a wide-hipped manner that could only mean one thing:

I was dilated to 4 centimeters and this baby was ready to go.

Never mind the fact that I still had a month before my actual due date (June 30th for those of you keeping track). Ignoring the fact that the Creep was 10 days late to the party and so even if this one decided to come early - I was probably going to be celebrating the 4th of July in a mu mu with my feet soaking in ice water. Despite all of these tremendously great reasons not to get my hopes up, my hopes were very up.

I told my midwife that I thought I was dilated. I assured her that the baby had dropped. I joked that I should be careful going to the bathroom.

She snapped on her glove, took a look around and said, "Honey, your cervix is so far up there I can't even find it."

Dammit.

She topped off that amusing little humdinger with the pronouncement that the Twerp is set to be just as big as her older brother (9lbs 11oz for those of you keeping track), which makes my fondest hope of avoiding another C-Section seem just that much farther away.

I have been in a bit of a funk this past week, mainly moping over the midwife news but more than a little bit by the swelling of my joints and cankles. Stupid pregnancy.

Until yesterday. Yesterday I once again visited my midwife with the adorable sense of humor and this time...

I am a centimeter dilated! And partially effaced! Woot! She TOUCHED the baby's HEAD (let us not dwell on visualizing this please). This means that I might actually HAVE A BABY.

Stay tuned...
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In Other News: Many thanks to my friend Ikisti for the awesome belly shot. She sat me down for a photo session the other week and I have been carrying around the gorgeous photo album she gave me and showing complete strangers my belly ever since.