The Waiting Game

I'm at that point in my pregnancy where my due date is no longer just an obscure date.  It's this week.  On Sunday.  Granted, I could go 2 weeks over like I did with Princess, but still...

39 Weeks

So now, I'm waiting.  I have a moment of panic every evening when I start getting ready for bed and realize that if I go into labor during the night, there will be people in my house before I'll get the chance to straighten things up.  The plan is for our upstairs neighbor to come downstairs and spend the rest of the night with the kids so we don't have to get them up in the middle of the night.  In the morning, Hubby's mom will come over and pick up the kids.  She'll be taking the week off after I go into labor so will be taking care of the kids for quite a bit of that time.

Right now, it literally feels like the baby is going to fall out while I'm walking.  I've been wearing a denim maternity skirt which is the only thing that fits and is comfortable right now, but I'm starting to think that maybe I should start wearing pants.  You know, just in case.  It also feels like his head is about the size of a bowling ball and if it is, he better start thinking about an alternative route out.

I'm starting to get really irritated with the "haven't you had that baby yet?" questions.  When I'm standing in front of you, and you can clearly see that the baby is still hanging out in his cozy little 9 month home, please try to come up with a different line of conversation!

I get nervous taking Little Man out and about because he has a tendency to bolt for no reason.  You know, like out in the middle of the street when a semi is barreling down the road.  And frankly, I move about as fast as a turtle hopped up on Benadryl right now.

Sorry for all the randomness.  I've been having problems forming a complete thought lately.  I'm blaming it on a combination of pregnancy and blondeness.  Which is also what I'm blaming the recent incident at the gas station on.  I came home from the gas station thinking my van was broken because I couldn't get the gas cap off to refuel.  Hubby went to "fix" it and twisted it right off.  Oh, that's right.  It's lefty loosey, righty tighty.  Oops.  I least I had an excuse for being that...well, you know.  My younger sister tried to get the gas cap off at the gas station too and she's brunette and NOT pregnant.  Not sure what her excuse was.      


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