Here are a few quick things before I attempt to have a lovely long weekend of sorts.

I went with my dressmaker today to an amazing store full of wonderful fabrics so that she could help me pick the material for the sash on my dress for the wedding. (I tried to do it myself one time, but my head exploded.)

And we found it. And it is BEAUTIFUL and flowy and a little sparkly and I may have hugged it. And if I was any kind of mentally organized these days, I’d have pulled out the digital camera I had in my purse and taken a picture of it to show you nice people.

But? I am more often than not a moron these days. I’m lucky I left the house with underwear on today. (And they are NOT beautiful and flowy and a little sparkly.)

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The pediatric urologist we’d like to use for Wiggly’s bris (circumsion) won’t let us have a Rabbi present during the “procedure”. This whole thing is becoming waaaaay too complicated. Don’t ever tell me girls are high maintenance. This is the most high maintenance penis on the planet (next to Kevin Federline’s) and it isn’t even HERE yet.

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I caved on the whole “fight the power” thing. Instead of opting to fight the ticket in court, I mailed in my information and a request to take defensive driving. If I’m approved to take a course, I’ll have 90 days to do it. So, sometime after the baby’s born, I’ll get to spend a whole Saturday in a defensive driving course and Husband will have to deal with an infant.

Yep. That’s a great idea. Our tax dollars at work. Fucking brilliant.

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My vanity quotient is rising daily. I am so ready to get back to “normal” I can’t see straight. I actually called my OBGYN today to ask if it was okay if I (FINALLY!) get to color my hair a week before the baby is born. I am fully aware that question is completely ridiculous and the reason I know this is because the nurse called me back – while laughing.

But roots and random grey hairs? No laughing matter. Get the paintbrush ready.

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We’ve had our first nanny casualty today. The Pfluftagus bit Maria today. For trying to pet her. A lovely puncture wound that drew blood.

And I? Am horrified. And? A little bothered. If this aggression continues, I’m not sure what options we have. She’s a high strung dog to begin with and if it gets worse when Wiggly arrives… hmmm. Not good.

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Okay, that about does it for me. It wasn’t 900, but in between all of this, I also wrote a strategy on how exactly I’ll be raising a half million dollars for the hospital, finalized an order for 80+ engraved pavers, scheduled 92 meetings and dealt with some financial auditing / tracking issues.

And now? It’s oreo cookie time. ‘Cause you should always eat Oreos before going to the dentist.

I am now under attack internally in TWO ways. It’s not bad enough that Wiggly has 947 elbows and 356 knees moving around all damn day, but now, my mouth is under attack.

This is a new one for me. Apparently when you’re pregnant, your blood volume increases dramatically (which makes sense) and so anything blood-filled on your body swells.

(Which is also why they say pregnant women – for awhile – have great sex. You know, from the extra, uh, swelling. You get the picture. I don’t. Because I’d have to be able to be comfortable for more than, say, 2 minutes to pull that off. But that’s another post altogether. Hi, Dad.)

Anyhoo.

So, my gums are swollen. Everywhere. They bleed if I look at them funny. I have weird swollen areas that are not enhancing my smile at all. And my breath? Notsogood.

The hotness. It is overwhelming.

And so, tomorrow, I’m off to my dentist. Who, coincidentally, is my dad’s best friend and an all around groovy dude. Who will probably laugh his ass off at me upon looking in my mouth. Here’s how cool he is: At our wedding, he walked up to Husband and I to offer his congratulations, gave us each a big hug and kiss and then announced, “You are not going to believe how much of [Dad]’s free liquor I’m going to drink tonight!” Love it.

If I didn’t like this guy so much, I’d dread this. ‘Cause the thought of scraping, spitting and scrubbing? Ew ew ew. But, if it helps, I’m all for it.

How many more days????

Dear Wiggly,

Today is June 26th, otherwise known as the first day of the last month, or, count-down time thankyoutoallthatisgoodandholyamen!

If you follow our little evil plan, 30 days from now you’ll be here. And I’ll be asleep. You know, because of the drugs. I think it’s safe to say that today I might have fallen a little bit in love with you.

I’m not quite sure why this little “ah-ha” happened today of all days. Today was no different than any other, except for an insane amount of stuff to do and a whole ton o’ driving around. But somewhere in the middle of the rushing and the schlepping (my G-D the schlepping!) and the doing, I remembered we needed to set up the Pack-N-Play in our bedroom and I got this little mental image of a tiny, little guy sleeping in it.

And that was it.

And that was it.

I might have talked out loud to you today. And said your name. And you may have swirled around a bit. It was cool.

(And speaking of the swirling, I am MORE than aware that we are both running out of room here and the whole daily exercise program thing is getting a bit cramped. But, would you mind stopping with the tickling of the lower pelvic bone with your boney little fingers? It’s creepy.)

So, I’m going to buy you some stuff this weekend, seeing as how we’re still missing a few things…

…Like a stroller and car seat (you know, so we can actually bring you home from the hospital),

…some diapers (‘cause Maria likes a clean house),

…a few bottles (in case los breasts no workee),

And maybe something for your room – which has paint and your new dresser, but still has no decorations to speak of. Sigh.

So, that’s it for now. Guess the next 29 days will be a constant adventure, much like the last 300.

Oh, and just so you know, I made arrangements for your circumcision today. So don’t mess with Mommy. I know people. People with scalpels.

Well, I got nothin’ for ya.

I was wide awake from 2:47am to 3:50am which basically meant I was a waste today. Including 2 naps.

The Swimmy has Swimmer’s Ear and I have to take her to the pediatrician tomorrow so he can stick the Otoscope in her ear and make her scream bloody murder. What a way to start a Monday.

I caught a glimpse of myself from the side in a mirror. I wasn’t aware I had swallowed a basketball, but, there you have it.

I have 947 things on my task list. All of them important. Most of them have to be done tomorrow. It’s a Franklin Covey nightmare.

And you? How was YOUR weekend?

Scene: Me, checking out at grocery store. Very Pregnant. Duh.

Dumbass cashier: Dude, your stomache is moving.

Me: You don’t say.

DAC: (Eyebrows raised) Yeah. Why?

*pause*

Me: I’m practicing my audition for the remake of Alien. Have a nice day.

I think I should get an award for not killing this asshat on the spot. Pfft.

The Swimmy is spending June and July at a summer day camp at the local Jewish Community Center. You know the drill…swimming, playing, arts and crafting, field tripping, etc.

(Do they have adult camp? ‘Cause all that is sounding really good right now.)

We got our first “progress report” from her counselor today.

And I quote, “She is very outspoken and loves to tell us everything. It’s a bummer she wouldn’t do the rock wall.”

For those of you who don’t speak Swimmy, let me break it down for you:

You have an opinionated kid who tells on people. Oh, and she’s a woos.

Tah dah!

We’ve been working on her need to “inform”, but that’s an ongoing struggle. She’s way too bright for her own good and perhaps we praised her a bit too much when she’d make informative statements about the world around her as she was growing up (so far). We are now working on when it’s appropriate to state her opinion – and that she is not the boss of the universe.

That last one is gonna take a bit more time.

As far as her being a woos…well, I’m okay with that. I’ve seen what a fearless kid does, and, really, I don’t have that kind of energy. I’ll take cautious and observant any day.

May she stay that way with boys. Amen.

Mostly.

As I have said before, Maria is unbelievably capable. She takes great pride in a clean house and happy kid. We love Maria.

But, Maria is proactive. This is usually a great thing. Okay, it is always a great thing. But when you are not particularly prepared for said proactiveness, strange shit can happen.

I had many, many things to do today because (yay!) my folks came home from Little Rock for a loooooong deserved and much needed several month break. I had to go to a work meeting, then go to the grocery store to help them out, drop off food at their house (and mine) and go flying out the door to pick up The Swimmy at camp (with more work in between all that). No problem. I had it all worked out.

Until my meeting ran a half hour over. It wasn’t too bad, except we had this discussion at a Starbuck’s and sat outside and I made the unfortunate decision to wear a dark colored t-shirt and jeans – when it’s 100 degrees outside.

(The baby, he is eating my brain. Slowly.)

So, I HAD to go home and change. Otherwise I was risking spontaneous combustion, or passing out. You get the picture.

I came flying in the door, said hello to Maria and ran to my closet.

Which had been completely re-organized and cleaned up OhMyG-d. I know! Usually a good thing! However, she had taken all my shorts, which were on the floor (Because that is my totally awesome organization system for the 3 pairs of maternity shorts I own. What? Shut up.) – and figured they were dirty. And put them in the washing machine.

So I had nothing to wear ‘cause I certainly wasn’t putting the Jeans As Hot As Fire back on. I looked for SOMETHING else to wear, and the only other item of clothes I had with a stretchy waist band was an old pair of Soffee shorts – which kinda still fit if I wore them WAAAAY under my stomache.

(Cue Maria apologizing in the background as we laughed. Sort of.)

So basically I went to the grocery store in a maternity tank top, wee-too-small Soffee shorts, my hair pulled up on the top of my head and flip flops. HOTT, baby! Smokin’.

Other things Maria proactively took on today:

I’m thinking her list tomorrow should include balancing the federal budget, solving the middle east crisis, solving the Hoffa disappearance, and figuring out the real words to “Blinded by the Light”.

You know, to keep her busy in the morning.

10,000 people (roughly) have come by this little piece of the Webosphere as of 11:22pm last night. (And to you in College Park, Maryland? Get some sleep already!)

It blows me away that 10,000 people from all over the world have stopped by for a moment (or an hour) to read the thoughts of a potty-mouthed chick in Texas whose life includes stories of exploding dogs, pregnancy-induced heartburn, grown stepdaughters, a goofy 5-year old and her terrific dad, and many, many rants and questions about things that may or may not be important.

Thanks to all of you for sharing your most precious of commodities — your time. It’s been a great adventure and you’ve made it even more interesting.

Cheers,

Pammer

Maria likes my cooking. I think. I’m pretty sure she’s not THAT good an actress and lord knows I’VE never cleaned my plate when something didn’t taste good.

Is it weird that I’m concerned about whether or not she likes my cooking? Or that I seem to be thinking of menus to prepare? And that I might have some anxiety about this? (A little. But more than is necessary I’m sure.)

Actually, cooking together these past few days has been kinda interesting. We pick what to eat, and if it’s something she’s comfortable with, she jumps right in (so awesome) and adds her little flair to it. Sometimes I’ll make something she has NO familiarity with and the look on her face is priceless.

For instance, I have a rockin’ recipe for Guilt Free Caesar dressing…made with tofu.

(DON’T knock it, folks. It’s AWESOME and I hate tofu.)

Maria had never seen tofu before and for the life of me I couldn’t begin to describe to her (in Spanish, no less) what tofu was and how it worked. I told her “protein”, which she understood, and hoped for the best. But I could tell part of her was thinking “WTF?!”

She ate 3 helpings.

Thursday, I have a meeting that will run until (or after 5) and I’ve asked her to help Husband with cooking dinner. Whatever she wanted. So, we made a list. All I know is that this meal requires rice (natch), steak cutlets of some kind, poultry seasoning (for the rice) and a few other things we currently own in the pantry.

Husband is a bit skeptical. I can’t wait to see.

And it’ll give my brain and all its menu planning a rest already. Because at this point? I don’t need anything else making me tired.