How about some more of me freaking out?

"You look like you don't want to be here today."

That is incorrect.  I want to be here very much.  Amongst the adults and the quiet and the brain-engaging activity.

Don't get me wrong, I love Silas, and I don't love to get up and drive an hour and fifteen minutes to work, but omgIwantedoutofthathouse.

You guys?  I'm officially terrified of maternity leave. 

My mom and aunt were out of town this weekend.  So, it was just Silas and me cooped up in the house together getting on each other's nerves for two days.  A tiny not-even-close-to-what-it's-going-to-be-like glimpse of maternity leave. Because he sleeps and can talk and can sometimes entertain himself for, like, a fifteen minute stretch.  But a new baby?

NEW BABIES DON'T SLEEP OR TALK OR DO ANYTHING FOR THEMSELVES.  THEY JUST YELL AT YOU AND WAKE YOU UP WHEN YOU WANT DESPERATELY TO SLEEP.

So, eight weeks of me and the baby and the pre-schooler trapped in a house together with only the occasional visit or convo with other adults?  Sounds like hell on earth.

It's only 14.5 weeks away.  That's not a long time.  Especially when you break it up by all the events coming up (as I do).

August - taking sweet Silas to Seaworld for one last pre-baby brother trip AND the 3D/4D sonogram

September - Silas 3rd birthday party (and we've reached the Chuck E. Cheese nightmare of a birthday party age).  Also, did I mention he's going to be three years old :/

October - my mom is throwing me a baby shower AND Halloween prep AND it's my last month as a mom of one.  Last month.  Like, I'm going to be having a perpetual panic attack for 31 days AND constantly worrying that I'm going to go into labor

November 1, 2012 - D-Day.  My sweet baby Gavin arrives - unless I do go into labor before then.

Holy crap!

Six Months - gah, it's just pathetic at this point

"God does not give you more than you can handle," but you guys are going to have so much fun watching my neurosis bloom to its full potential over the next year and a half, aren't ya?

I hate making up titles

My place is clean again.  I had to ignore all requests to play Candy Land and monster trucks on Saturday (there was so much Fresh Beat Band - OMG, it's horrible - worse than Gabba Gabba even), but our laundry is done and our floors are mopped/vacuumed and all the toys are in their rightful places.  (Yay for not tripping over race tracks and big wheels in the kitchen!)

It's a less depressing place to be when it's clean - mostly if I'm not at work, I'm there because I have no life.  So, when it's a mess, I get sadfaced.

(Insert smooth transition here)

As I previously mentioned, my doc wants me to deliver at 39 weeks.  I was told after I had Anabel that I should not deliver after 37 weeks because of the type of c-section I had with her and the chance for uterine rupture/possible death if I go into labor again.

Last night I started to freak out about living alone and going to 39 weeks.  Every neurotic, dramatic bone in my body feels like I'll go into labor before that c-section is scheduled.  I convinced myself that my only hope is going into labor at work - 15 minutes from my hospital surrounded by people who know how to drive.  Pray, people, pray.

Oh, and Gavin?  Not so lazy as I previously thought.  I think maybe he's just smaller than Silas or positioned differently?  I don't know, but he's busy as all get out these days.  Flipping and kicking and squirming and being generally obnoxious to my bladder - just like his brother before him.

And my Silas asks about his brother all the time now.  Like he's maybe decided it's okay if we keep the little brother.  So, there's that.

They are going to be quite the pair.  

Pair.  OMG.  Pair.  Like, two of them.  As in, I'm getting dangerously close to being seriously outnumbered.  

But aren't they going to be the freaking cutest pair of brothers ever to drive a momma crazy?

Everything is going to be alright

Our Independence Day started with Silas asserting his right to make a huge mess on the couch while I took a shower.

You guys?  I cried.  So. Much. 

If you zoomed out from that picture, you would see that my house is a disaster without the added powdered sugar on the couch.  There are toys everywhere.  

Michael left three months ago (I don't want to talk about it, which is why I haven't talked about it), and I am exhausted trying to work full time, take care of Silas, and be pregnant.  

So, ya know, the mega blocks tend to just stack up in the middle of the living room and there is a car track and a big wheel in my kitchen, and we are just not getting into what the hallway or the bedrooms look like.

Silas was so darn pleased with himself for "making clouds" and could not understand why mommy was soooooo mad that it looked like her head might explode.

As it turns out, the vacuum cleaner attachment hose makes short work of getting powdered sugar off the couch.  Thank God.  Amen.

The rest of the day was a typical July 4th.  We hung out with friends and grilled out and watched fireworks and were very grateful to live in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave - powdered sugar, toy strewn, constant train wreck mess of a life and all.  

Because we have our health and we have a good job and we have a nice car and a roof over our heads and we never go hungry and we are safe and free to live our lives and next year?  Next year our baby brother is going to be with us to watch fireworks and play in the water and make us smile.

We are all going to be okay.  In fact, we are going to thrive.