Two Months vs. Two Days

A friend of mine is due in two days. Every couple of days, when I see that she has put up a new post, I keep hoping it might be a post from the hospital with a photo of a newly emerged baby. But no...

I have two months to go. I shouldn't be complaining yet. But I will. Just a little.

Inevitably, in the middle of the night about 3:30 am, I have to go to the bathroom. Usually, I am in the middle of a dream in which I end up realizing I need to find a bathroom, and there are none available. I wake up, and lie in groggy denial for a while before I hoist myself out of bed. Then I climb the stairs, walk through the kitchen and the hallway to the bathroom, keeping my eyes half shut in the hopes I won't really wake up that much. By the time I get back downstairs, and get resituated in bed, the baby wakes up and decides to poke around in there for a while. By the time she is quiet again, I am wide awake, and don't fall back asleep until just before Chris's alarm goes off at 5:15. Then Joe decides to wake up sometime between 5:15 and 6:00. Not nice.

Last night I decided to treat myself to a bath. I was only disturbed once. It made me want one of those deep, claw-foot tubs that looks so relaxing in the commercials. Somehow, these shallow, squarish ones always feel a little awkward. I sat back and poured warm water over the mound too big to be submerged, enjoying the buoyancy and weird feeling of less pressure on my back. Then I decided to stay in the tub while I let the water drain. As the water level dropped, I felt myself getting heavier, and heavier, ... and heavier... and I began to worry that I was stuck in the bottom of the tub and would have to yell for Chris to come pull me out. I have new sympathy for beached whales.