I find myself staring at the calendar and counting the weeks . . . and starting to panic. SEVEN.MORE.WEEKS.
Seven more weeks until we meet baby boy. This little frog is quite active. He reminds me of Jacob, who still bounces in and out of the room. Every night as I read in my chair, he kicks and punches. The others boys love watching my giant belly move. It actually freaks Jesse out!
Seven more weeks of waddling. I’m officially waddling. I’m rolling off the couch. I sitting with my fat, fat ankles elevated. I’m getting out of bed because my hips hurt or I gotta pee.
Seven more weeks of weight gain. I’m past my goal weight. Oh well. I shouldn’t gain much more . . . I’m too miserable to eat. My clothes still fit, and I can still wear my wedding band.
Seven more weeks until life completely changes. I have this list of things I want to do before baby comes. Most things on the list are simple, completely selfish things. I know that come October, I won’t be going anywhere for quite some time. When I have a baby, I become a homebody. I just hate dragging all that stuff everywhere. Buckle in . . .buckle out. Whoops, I forgot to put clean burpies (or diapers) in the diaper bag! It is just not worth it to me! I am truly happy at home, but I know how much things are really going to change.
Seven more weeks to get the room ready. That’s our Labor Day weekend project. Actually, I’m pretty close. We’ve got to take down the bunk bed and put up the crib. I need to pull the clothes, blankets, breast pump, etc out and give all a good washing.
Seven more weeks.