That has been my general attitude this week.
Only 4 weeks to go, and as you other moms know, I am in hell. Between acid reflux and getting seriously punched in the bladder all night long, I am getting very little sleep. Nothing fits except t-shirts and sweats. Oh, and I really haven’t done anything to prepare for this baby. It’s such a weird extreme from my first child that I think I might be in total denial that I am even having a child in the immediate future.
I’ve also been informed that this baby will be larger than my last. Apparently she will be over 8 pounds, which doesn’t bother or upset me, except when the news is delivered something like this…
Doctor: Hi there! I see from the ultrasound photos that this is going to be ONE BIG BABY.
It’s almost as bad as someone asking if you are having twins when you aren’t.
Anyway, the naming game continues on, but now my husband just points out words that rhyme with whatever name I suggest…
Him: Like “terrace?”
Me: Yes, so?
Me: I might kill you soon.
The only thing I don’t have to complain about this week are my recent pregnancy dreams. I’ve had very bizarre dreams for several months (being pregnant with Elvis’ baby…having a friend see me naked and then pee on my bathroom floor…just generally unnerving stuff), but this week I had a great dream.
I was married to the guy I had a crush on in high school (the handsome, popular, sweet guy that everyone liked, who is probably managing a Dairy Queen now). I drove a red, convertible Jag, and I was as pregnant as I am now, but I was so thin that no one could tell. Oh, and all the high school people were there fawning all over me. Excellent.