Done Like Dinner *

This is a venting post. Please do not read if you don't want to hear about my no good terrible very bad day(s).

I hear many pregnant women say that towards the end, you are done. Well I'm done. Finito. I tried not to be like that, but it is clearly, undeniably here. Everything starts to add up, and I have reached my boiling point.

I now have a cold. I can't seem to breathe through my nose or my scratchy, sore throat, and of course, can't take anything for it.

I have the largest belly known to man. In fact, I couldn't seem to squeeze into a bathroom stall at a restaurant last night without some serious manuerving. I have also outgrown many maternity shirts. What the...

I also caught a glimpse of the bikinis lining the back of my drawer. Never again to be worn, thanks to the beautiful stretchmark memorablia my baby has left me. Sigh. The sacrifices a mother makes. Had I known, I would have pranced around in them prior to this whole 500 pound marked up belly nightmare.

I went to do laundry this morning, and in the middle of the cycle, my kitchen sink started to regurgitate sinky smelly water. Pipes starting squirting water underneath. I broke down in tears and phoned Dale. Way past my boiling point now. He tried to direct me as what to do, but the smell caused an immediate return of the oh so familiar vomit dry heave that I have been so sorely missing. Still crying, not able to breath and puking at this point. Glamorous eh? He ended up coming home to help calm me and the water.

So yes, this morning involved lots of crying and done-ness. I tried to mentally convince the baby to come early. I mean, whats 3 more weeks really?

Dale's parents have kindly offered to turn their hottub right down to luke warm so I can soak in there tonight, as I am like a massive beached whale that is 1/8 covered in my own tub. I just need some weight and pressure to be gone. Even if I step out tof the tub and its right back, at least for a short period of time, I was living below my boiling point.

* Pleae don't get me wrong- I love this baby already with all my heart, and want to meet him/her very badly. I am just VERY ready. And, as you can probably tell, my hormones have gotten the best of me. I mean why 9 months? Dogs carry their babies for much shorter and they turn our fine!?