LATE: an update

It's so much fun being in your last month of pregnancy that I thought I'd extend my delicate state for a while. Yes, that's right, my due date came and went, but the enormity of the situation has not really sunk in yet.

I'm still growing and stretching as a person and I thought it would be fun to grow just a little more before I get so tied up. The little guy is apparently very shy. Besides, the purple character lines on my stomach are so becoming. And, they double as a racetrack for my four year old to play hot wheels on while Mommy's passed out from exhaustion during his nap time.

Since I have so much time on my hands to think (because, if you can't clear your schedule for when you think a new baby is coming, then when, right?) So as I was saying, between hormonal breakdowns and cramping, I've been planning my bathroom remodel. I've been doing lots of research during Toilet Tour 2009. That's what I like to call it because each of my bathrooms gets equal love right now. (If I'm walking by, I might as well.)

Who knew I'd get this extra time for myself? I finished another book. A big one, maybe you've heard of "What to Expect When You're Expecting"...its sort of a cult classic.

And since I'm beyond pregnant, I am liberated about what I should and should not be eating. "Yes," to two-fisting sour cream and onion Lays and Milano's. "No," to prenatal vitamins. I am post natal, but for a technicality, so I graduated to Flintstones. They taste better and I don't want to end up on the cover of the Examiner, or whatever, with the next 19lb baby. Can I get an Amen?

Wouldn't it be funny if I pull the "Using the whole fist doc?" and "Mooooon Riiiver?" thing from Fletch the next time I get checked for dilation? Note to all of you that might one day have a baby: forget where they went to school, chose the Ob-Gyn with the smallest hands. You'll thank me someday.

Women really are the stronger sex. If a man takes a little kick or punch to the jewels, he's ruined for days. But women can walk around with a person punching and kicking her and literally pushing her innards, out. (My crotch hurts, but you don't see me pale on the floor.) That is to say nothing of the torment and havoc of birthing the thing... Which women have the capacity to do AND to love the little bugger with all her heart after he's defiled and left stretch marks all over what God made so beautiful. It's a mental strength; we slip into Navy Seal mode or something. I don't even remember much about the labor and delivery of my first child, just that I knew I could endure anything for the sake of a healthy baby. And I chose to do this again? I amaze myself, really.

As I was saying. I have way too much time on my hands with no where to go.

But out.