Still just getting ready for The Gugs (pronounced “Googs”) to come. I’m looking forward to the day I am not pregnant anymore—when I can drink a glass of water without going into convulsions; when I can eat tomatoes and onions and garlic and red meat and spicy things and things with any flavor at all again; to when saying I feel “fine” doesn’t mean “despite the 24-7 nausea and heartburn”; to when I don’t say things to Kevin like, “Hey, wanna see my hemorrhoids?”
This weekend I made it my mission to sort through baby clothes. I had already gone through one big plastic tub but I felt I was missing a couple things so I sent Kevin into the attic to see if maybe we had another tub up there. He handed down one…two…three…FOUR FRIGGIN’ TUBS. I started crying right then.
Of course, when Kevin was in the attic Rocco remembered about the Christmas train we set up around the tree this year and he got his panties all in a bunch wanting it down. It’s set up again and now he keeps asking where the Christmas tree is and when Santa’s going to come.
But I digress. See this here? This is kind of freaking me out.
It’s the beginnings of me packing a hospital bag. And if I’m packing a hospital bag, that must mean this baby is coming sometime in the next few weeks. And if the baby is coming in the next few weeks then I’ve got to get back to sorting through the four boxes of 0-3 month clothes.
I bid you adieu.