Tomorrow I'll be officially in my eighth month.
I'll be in my 8th month and already people are always saying stuff like: "oh you must have everything ready for baby now, hey?" or "you must be close to finished her nursery now, right?
Oh who the hell do I think I'm fooling? I suck, ok? I suck! I suck!
EYEEEEEE SUUUUUUCK! *shamed sob*
My nursery-to-be still looks like a bomb loaded with loose paper went off in it (although the paper fallout is far less than it used to be...)
Sadly, if I went into labour right now, Bug would have nowhere to sleep, nothing to wear actually purchased by her parents in anticipation of her impending birth, and her father would be forced to run out to an all night pharmacy to stock up on the diapers, bum wipes and diaper cream (etc, etc, etc) just so she wouldn't be left lying naked on the corner while both her parents try to figure out how to install the damn car seat we just bought yesterday. (for the edification of the expectant grandparents: behold! Here is the overly expensive safety device we splashed out for yesterday that will protect your granddaughter. Nice colour, hey?)
I guess I could always distract Bug from the harsh reality that her mother is a disorganized loser by dangling the sales slip showing that I did actually buy a crib in front of her although I'm not sure how comforting she would find that once she actually needed somewhere to sleep.
Believe me, I know that things gotta change but just in case I needed an extra kick in the pants, tonight the gods arranged for one but good. Scott and I went for a nice leisurely walk earlier this evening and a couple of blocks before we made it home, I was doubled over with Braxton Hicks and pelvic pain. I knew it was nothing...but it made me think.
This. Kid. Could. Come. At. ANY. Time.
No time to write...feeling the need to organize things. And paint things. And buy things. And...