The end is near.

It's official. I'm exactly 12 days away from my official due date. While this whole due date thing is obviously not an exact science, it does mean that I'm really freaking close to giving birth to this baby. It could happen any day between now and 3 1/2 weeks from now.

I've known since Nicholas was two minutes old that I wanted more children. I didn't know how or when until the whole Liam thing happened, but I knew I was headed in that direction. Throughout our dating days and engagement period, Liam and discussed when we would have more kids and it wasn't too long after we officially tied the knot that we decided to make the big leap. Two months later, we sat in the living room staring at a little stick, Liam with a look of glee on his face and me with "Holy shit, what have we done?" screaming in my brain.

Almost exactly 8 months later, I sit here with an abdomen that greatly resembles a watermelon in both size and stripes, feet that don't fit any normal shoes I own, and ankles that lack anything even remotely close to ankle bones. And I wait.

Every day Nicholas and I discuss whether or not the baby will be born that day. Every time I drive by the hospital I say to my belly "We're right near the hospital. Any thoughts on coming out?". And every time I talk to a friend I repeat the same "No, there's no baby yet" phrase. And I wait.

On the one hand, I can't wait for this baby to be born. I'd really like my body back, and I'd really like to be able to walk up the stairs without feeling like I've just sprinted around the block. I'm also concerned about what I'll do if my sandals no longer fit. I also have to admit that the idea of wearing something other than my black maternity capris and Liam's U of L shorts is akin to the midwinter dreamings of warm spring mornings.

On the other hand, I've still got one foot firmly planted in "I'm not yet ready for this baby" world. The biggie, obviously, is going through labor. As much as I've prepared myself and created a support system which includes Liam and my doula Kara, it looms in front of me like a huge stormcloud full of unknown possibilities. There are also many small things which cause me to mentally hesitate. This may be my last pregnancy and I may never again experience the joys of feeling my child's body move inside of my own. Nicholas will never again be my only child. Our lives will be dramatically changed as a new little soul comes into our home.

I think it's a good thing that labor starts spontaneously. If I were able to control when it started, I'd wait until I felt totally ready and I can't say that that time would ever actually arrive. I'm ready, and I'm not. In the end the choice of when this baby arrives won't be up to me, but I do know that the moment my child is placed in my arms will be the exact right moment.

What ever happened to my 100 things?

I made it through the first 50 things about myself but somehow I fizzled out after that. I can't say that I'll tell 100 things then only do half that. That would be oh so wrong. So, here we go...

51) My natural hair color is brown, but I've dyed it red and black. I've also had blonde streaks. I've sworn never to dye my hair again, at least not while I've got it long.

52) When I was a little kid I used to think it'd be cool to be a rock star, but I'm too shy to sing in front of anyone other than Nicholas.

53) My favorite color is blue.

54) I've had 6 different homes in my life.

55) I've had stitches 6 times. Coincidence? Hhmm...

56) I get cold sores. I despise them. I have one now and I want to rip off my lip.

57) I am currently 38 weeks pregnant and want the baby to come OUT.

58) When I was angry as a kid, I used to imagine that I was adopted.

59) I now wear my wedding and grad rings on a chain around my neck because my fingers are too puffy to get them on and off. And on the same note, only three pairs of my shoes fit me now.

60) I have a hard time believing that I'm a "real" grownup. I still feel like I'm pretending at the whole mom and wife thing.

61) Half of my front right tooth is fake. I smashed it when I fell off my bike as a kid and landed on my face. Ouch.

62) I don't like scary movies. They scare me. Being scared is bad.

63) I used to pay for my horse's board by cleaning out stalls. I kind of miss being sweaty and smelling like horse poo.

64) When Liam tricked me into thinking he wasn't going to propose to me and then turned around a proposed, I was angry. Not for pretend. I was pissed off. But I still said yes.

65) I'm currently re-reading Gone With the Winds. The first time I read it was when I was 38 weeks pregnant with Nicholas. I like patterns.

66) I cannot stand Chris Farley. Watching him "act" makes me want to hurt someone.

67) Through pregnancies and breastfeeding, my body so far has supported the life of another for a total of 63 months. I rock.

68) My brother is getting married in May. I'm excited to have a really good reason to go to Vancouver. Oh, and I'm excited that my brother is getting married, of course.

69) I once got drunk at a bar and kissed a guy I'd met that night. We were both incredibly wasted and couldn't remember each other's names. Thank goodness for Tricia being my chaperone!

70) I worked at Radio Shack for a total of two years. I was such a geek.

And now one for Liam

I'm putting a warning right at the top of this entry. This is going to be mushy and lovey-dovey. If you don't like that kind of thing, run run away.

I decided to dedicate an entry to the good parts of Liam. This is partly to make up for what a good sport he was about the previous entry that picked on him, and partly because today is our one-year wedding anniversary. I also decided to make this a public statement because although I tease Liam quite often in front of others, I don't think that I acknowledge nearly often enough what a dear and wonderful man he is. So, here we go...

Liam, there are so many things about you for which I'm grateful. Thank you a million times over for the million ways in which you make my life better.

Thank you for your kindness and patience. You treat me better than I sometimes feel I deserve, and you put up with my mood swings, rants, and pickiness with grace. I'm still not quite sure how you manage it.

Thank you for how hard you work to provide for us. I truly appreciate being a stay at home mom, and I could obviously never do this without you working so hard. For all the work you do and all the extra hours you put into overtime, thank you.

Thank you for being such a great dad. I never dared hope that I would find someone who would be as wonderful as you have been with Nicholas. And for this coming baby, thank you for taking care of me during this pregnancy and supporting me by attending all the doctor's appointments. I love that you're just as thrilled over every little milestone as I am.

Thank you for being my best friend. I truly do feel that I have found my partner in life on all levels. This past year has been incredible. You've brought so much happiness and fulfillment into my life. The happy times have been blissful, the tough times have been few and far between, and the life before us fills me with joy.

It's called a vagina.

It's 8:30 in the morning and I've already ranted at Liam twice today. One of these rants involved the word vagina. It's not nearly as vulgar or interesting as you may hope.

I frequent a pregnancy forum where a whole bunch of women are due sometime in September 2005. It's fun to discuss things with women who are at the same stage in their pregnancies and I enjoy hearing what other people's experiences are like.

One thing really bugs me though, and that is the fact that so many women seem to have problems calling their vagina a vagina. So many times it's hinted at ("down there", "my girl parts") or re-named ("my no-no hole", "my hoo-hoo"). Then, more often than not, the poster apologizes for bringing up the fact that they have a vagina at all ("sorry, TMI"). It drives me batty.

We are all obviously women who know a little bit about our anatomy. We are all non-virgins and have gone through at least one pelvic exam with a doctor. Some of us have even given birth already, yet there is still this inability to write the word vagina. Come on people, we all have them and we all know we have them. The whole part about being female and having gotten pregnant kind of makes it obvious.

If my kid can tell you that a baby comes out of a woman's vagina, shouldn't an adult be able to say the same thing?

Life goes on

Today is a day of milestones.

1) Nicholas has his first oral freezing. He had two fillings put in this morning and was an absolute champ about it. His Mom, though, was almost in tears. Pregnant women should not witness their children undergoing stressful events.

2) My parents come back from Nova Scotia in...2 hours and 50 minutes. Ish. They've been away for four weeks. They'll be spending Friday through Sunday with Nicholas. I can hear myself snoring already.

3) Nicholas had his last ever day of preschool.

Which brings me to the meat of today's blog. Nicholas is starting kindergarten in two weeks. As much as this is something that all (well, most I guess) kids end up doing, this is a first for both him and me. He's never been a school kid before, and I've never been the mom of a school kid.

Now, Liam tried to downplay this whole thing recently by pointing out that Nicholas has been in various preschool classes for a few years now, but there is a world of difference. Preschool was once or twice a week and I had the option every three months of putting him in another class or keeping him home. Also, the longest class he's ever had was 2 1/2 hours (admittedly not much shorter than the 3-hour kindergarten days).

Our life until now has basically been the two of us hanging out. Sometimes he goes to Grandma's, sometimes I was at work or at school, but the main chunk of our time together was just being home. Yes, I realize that four days a week of 3-hour days is really not a whole lot of time, but the idea that my child is now entering the school system where he'll be staying (hopefully) for the next 13 years is a little bit daunting.

I'm going to be sharing my son with a teacher I've never met before and asking him/her to fill his head with knowledge. That's been my job until now. I can't help but feel a little bit put out.

Another aspect to this whole school thing is realizing that I have a school-aged child. Holy crap. When did that happen? I've just finally gotten my brain wrapped around the fact that I'm old enough to have a kid, nevermind one who's old enough to toddle off to school every day. I've gone from being a single mom who goes to college to being a married woman who's sending her oldest child off to school and waiting for her youngest to make his/her appearance into the world. Another daunting thought.

Here's one just for Dylan

As a follow-up to the Nicholasism with the Transformers...

He's got a little Transformers catalogue/comic book thing that came with one of his toys. He's fascinated by the different names. He caught my attention when he started talking about this one guy, Octopus Crime. Yeah.

Oh, and on the topic of Nicholasisms, we were recently driving by some church when Nicholas was supposed to be asleep in the back seat. I was reading out loud their wacky billboard out front and it had something along the lines of "Have you ever wrestled with God?". A little voice from the back seat piped up "God would win.". I almost peed myself laughing.

It's all about attitude, baby

The other night before going to bed I noticed that Liam had left his bread out on the table (I call it his bread because is the bag of heels that Nicholas and I have snubbed and left in the freezer). As I wrapped it back up and put it back in the freezer, I had an image pop into my head: I'm 75 years old and hobbling around the house putting bread away and picking up dirty socks.

Now, for anyone who doesn't know Liam and his domestic-type habits, here's a little snapshot. After he eats a sandwich, the bread is left out on the counter beside the mustard and the margarine (both with their lids off), every drawer and cupboard that he has used is left open, and his dirty plate is still on the counter. Oh, and Liam is gone, never to be seen again.

Back to the story at hand...I put the bread away and came upstairs to Liam who was in the computer room with this image of myself still picking up after him fresh in my mind. Halfway up the stairs I realized that I could look at all of this in one of two ways: I could get annoyed at his constant absentmindedness and dread this aspect of our shared life for the next however many years to come, or I could just get over it and accept that this is the way he is. I realized that I'm really not all that interested in being a grumpy bitch for the rest of my life. That's what pregnancy and PMS were made for.

I walked into the computer room and told Liam about my experience and I was laughing so hard I more fell on him than hugged him as I meant to. As I explained how I figured I could choose to deal with his foibles or divorce him he sat very still. I think he was trying to figure out which one I was leaning towards.

I think I'll stick with picking up behind him. After all, he gives awesome back rubs and I'll need someone to change all those stinky diapers that are soon coming out way.

Ummm??

There is an alien doing somersaults in my belly. I just thought the world should know.

That is all.