I’m nearing 31 weeks pregnant now, with so much to do that I can barely wrap my brain around the daunting list I’ve written out. It also doesn’t help that I keep thinking of things that need to be added to the list. You know, I think that it won’t hurt my feelings too badly to realize that while I would love to scour the stair rails before baby number two arrives, it’s really more important that I get that pedicure I keep fantasizing about. I mean, people are going to have to see my feet, and I don’t want that it’s winter, I’m pregnant, and I don’t remember what my feet even LOOK like thing going on. Because… eww. There are PLENTY of other less than savory things going on in a delivery room, I don’t need that ever so natural shade of I-stopped-caring nail polish to be one of them. Maybe it will make me feel more human and less aquatic mammalian. In any case, after nine months of gestation with one hell of a finale on the agenda, I think that (just maybe) I deserve it.

Especially after a string of recent events that makes me feel bitter, oh SO BITTER. Last weekend was Alaina’s second birthday party, which was mostly fun. The not so fun part was when I put Alaina down for her regular noon nap, before the party guests had arrived… well, all except the in-laws (dun dun dunnnn). I scheduled the party for noon, assuming people would be at least an hour or so late. Everyone was, except for my in-laws, who were right on time, and my sister-in-law and her boyfriend, who were damn near two hours late. Which, you know, was fine, considering that I had planned around all the late-comers. That is until I hear that mom-in-law and sis-in-law are having a shit-talking pow wow all hush-hush like in the room adjacent to the party. I’m upstairs, curling my hair and listening for an awake party girl, since she was due to wake up any minute. Why did she have us come if Alaina’s not even awake? You know? If it’s that big of a deal to be at your niece’s birthday party, don’t come. No big deal, because instead of enjoying your company, I was pissed at you. How can someone have the audacity to be almost TWO EFFING HOURS late to a party, and then think they have room to bitch? GAH. Thennnn mom-in-law comes upstairs to tell me that, you know, I should really wake up Alaina now because people are upset and saying that they’re going to have to leave soon. Which was a big fat lie. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell that woman that Laina is only two years old, she still really, really needs her nap, and she is a cranky devil child if I wake her up early. Then later that day, she let me know that I look so much cuter from the back than from the front. Wow. Thanks a BUNCH. If that woman gets any more tactful, I just don’t know what I’ll do with myself. Honestly, I’m not exactly exempt from having my foot in my mouth, but I don’t try to make people feel like crap about themselves. Ladies and gentlemen, Marie Barone is my mother-in-law.

Then? Andrew got sick. Closely followed by Alaina. For a minute, I thought I was going to get away without it, and then I would do some sort of goofy, triumphant I-got-a-flu-shot-aren’t-I-fabulous dance. So of course, I am now sick as a dog, praying I don’t get bronchitis because how much fun would THAT be?

To top off the best week ever, my car broke down today. It’s probably the starter. Wooooo.

Universe: 365168735139
Jennie: Goose Egg