Moan moan moan, whine gripe complain.  And..fin!  Seriously, that’s all I have.  My sleeping situation seems to have worsened – I think I am officially too heavy for my own hip bones.  And since pregnant women aren’t supposed to sleep on their backs, I’ve been trying to wedge a cushion under whichever hip I’m lying on to try and ease the pressure a bit.  Which is about as graceful a feat as you can possibly imagine, so my poor husband has to deal with my flopping about (and grunting) all night long.  Because of course as soon as I get even remotely “comfortable” I have to get up and go to the bathroom for the umpteenth time so then the whole process begins again.

None of my clothes fit anymore.  The belly is so large that it is pushing the waistband of my low-rise maternity pants waaaaaaaaaaaay down, and it makes me feel like the crotch of my pants is at my knees and my underwear is constantly about to fall off.  Very few of my shirts are long enough to cover the belly all the way, so I have been reduced to wearing the same three or four shirts over and over.  And I am down to one (low-rise) pair of pants that don’t cause the belly to itch so badly I want to crawl out of my skin.  For someone who loves clothes as much as I do, this is torture.  Oh, and we won’t even mention the fact that my bellybutton has popped out, and if I want to disguise that at all I have to wear this one skin-tight maternity camisole under absolutely everything.  Which means washing it constantly.  Because I am always hot and sweaty.

At my doctor’s appointment last week, I was informed that the baby is still – to use the technical term – “sky high”.  I have not dilated or effaced ONE LITTLE BIT.  I go back tomorrow, maybe I’ll have progressed somewhat.  For crying out loud, you would think all these annoying-ass contractions were doing SOMETHING.

Don’t you wish you were my husband?  I am such a joy.

While I don’t particularly relish the idea of being in the hospital for Christmas or dealing with a days-old newborn while my son is opening his gifts from Santa, I am so ready to meet my little girl.  She is so loved and adored already, and waiting to meet the newest member of my family is just about to kill me.  Come on, little one.  We’re ready when you are.