So I'm six days from my due date, and lordy, I hope this baby comes sooner than that. To put it mildly, I am not the most pleasant of campers these days.
Taking the brunt of my unpleasantness? That would be my dear, sweet husband who has done nothing but, you know, cause all this...
Taking what unpleasantness doesn't come Roma's way? That would be my dear, sweet sister who let's face it, loved me through adolescence and isn't going to stop now...
Because I know you're curious:
Here I am at 38 weeks with what appears to be a basketball under my shirt...
And I know you might be thinking, you're not late yet, what do you really have to complain about?? Silly girl, you should still be feeling like this:
To that I say, you are wrong. I might not yet be late, but I already feel like this:
But that's because I just really can't wait to meet the little squirmer who's spent the last three weeks teasing me into thinking labor is imminent...
And also I suppose, because I can't wait to be able to pick things up off the floor again.
Or go up and down stairs with ease.
Or sleep in a position that isn't my side.
But mostly because I can't wait to meet her.
So come on little Eleanor, get here already.
