The crazy is back

How can I be eight months pregnant and still have seven weeks left?  Because they LIE about it being nine months, which most of us know by now, but at 32 weeks, it makes you mad all over again.

Notice how I'm not all "this is going by so fast!" anymore?  Because time is standing still.  Because I spend all of my spare time cleaning everything I can find to clean and wanting to cry because the acid in my throat is making me feel like my esophagus is in flames.  You cannot sleep when your esophagus is threatening to melt you from within.  And you cannot have the amount of caffeine necessary to keep you perky when you cannot sleep because you are in agony because your tiny, perfect child is trying to kill you from the inside out because it isn't good for the tiny, perfect child.  Because?  Pregnancy is horrible.

My foot (yes, singular) is starting to swell.  The one I broke only wants me to wear flip flops.  When I wear other shoes, it threatens to burst out of them.  That is a terrible plight because I've become obsessed with shoes.  When I had a divorce-related melt down the other day, I bought myself a new pair of boots to make myself feel better (STOP JUDGING ME!), and now I'm worried I'm going to be too swollen to ever wear them.  (Oh, look, all my crazy came back).

On the plus side, Silas has become convinced the spider (the one he invented when we transitioned to the toddler bed) is back and makes me get on my hands and knees (remember how I'm eight months pregnant?) to check under the bed every, single night to make sure it isn't there and THEN wakes up at 4 a.m. most mornings to insist that it is there and that he needs to sleep with (lay awake squirming with) me.

On the actual plus side, I applied to graduate school, and I ordered all 500 of my transcripts, and so now I'm three letters of recommendation away from sitting by my mailbox praying they say, "sure. Join us.  Throw another ring into the circus you call your life!"  

One of my bosses predicts that in ten years, I'll be a college professor, married to a college professor at parties turning my nose up at stinky cheese (because he knows I abhor stinky cheese).  

I do so hope he's right and that that is why I'm having this insane year.

Seven. More. Weeks.

8 month baby belly