My only excuse-- other than that I've been working a ton-- is that I'm tired. Bone tired. Muscle tired. Brain tired. All over everywhere tired.
It started at exactly thirty weeks, and it just keeps goin'. I'll be thirty-four weeks on Tuesday, and happily my workload is soon going to become... well, not less. Just more flexible. I haven't been able to do a lot of napping for the last couple of months. Starting next week, I should at least be able to take a half-hour nap when I need one.
Which I look forward to with a longing I can't even describe.
Even this weekend, which wasn't ALL about work for the first time in ages, was totally napless... for happy reasons.
Saturday, during what would have been my naptime, I had a (wonderful and reassuring) birthing instructor come to my house for a two hour birthing class. And Sunday's nap time was filled with a three hour infant care class.
I now know all about the many stages of labor, how to breathe during all of them, what to expect immediately after the baby's born, how to give baths, take care of the umbilical cord, and get tricky clothes over baby's head.
You'd think I'd feel more comfortable with the impending birth of my child... but mostly I'm just terrified that she's coming so soon! Six weeks! Not enough time! I have waaaaay too much to do!
I know it's all going to be fine.
The nursery is thisclose to done. I only have one more box to unpack from the remodel. Work is going smoothly (knock on wood, fingers crossed). WP can handle anything I can't, so nothing's going to slip through the cracks.
Everything is going to be fine.
I just wish I had a few more weeks.
Remember when I felt like my pregnancy was going so slowly? Remember how I wanted it to go faster?
Well. I'd like to feel a little of that now.
Instead, I feel like things are moving at the speed of light, and Champ is going to be here in two blinks.
And as much as I want to meet her, and see what color her hair is, and find out if she's as feisty as I suspect she is...
Later would be better than sooner.
Of course, a month from now, when I can't breathe anymore and my reflux is even worse than it is now (everytime I cough I almost puke-- not cool)... I reserve the right to change my mind.
And that's not a complaint-- I really have loved being pregnant. More than I ever imagined.
So maybe I can eek out eight weeks instead of six and a half?
What do you think, Champ?
This one's pretty much up to you...