I have this really wonderful habit of checking out anytime there’s tons of shit to do.

Checking out as in I could probably go sleep through the whole day and stay in denial that there’s necessary things to accomplish. Oh and not to mention. I’m working, too. But who the hell has time for work when there’s a kid coming and tons of shit to do?!

Just when I thought I pretty much had everything together for The Babe, I realize how little I have together and all the things I still need to get. And omg I can’t remember who got me what from the shower and there’s no gift receipts and I don’t mean for this to sound ungrateful, but there’s some pretty tacky horrendous clothes.

There’s two things I don’t like about boy clothes: 1. sports 2. sports

Can we please get a little creative. For the love of GOD, cut this Mommy’s #1 fan bullshit out. I can’t believe I said that. I sound like a world class jerk. I very well could be at the moment. I’m in a mood. Jesus Christ, I’m HAVING A CHILD WITHIN THE NEXT 12 DAYS. So please, just cut me some slack and take any a-hole comments with a grain of salt.

Currently, I have Maman sitting on the floor of the babe’s room, cutting tags and preparing a huge pile of clothes to wash. With each question she asks me, I am beginning to feel more and more panic. This is nothing against her, she’s asking me quite sensible, really obvious things — things good mothers should know, but instead I look at her blankly. Because I’m not a good mother like that yet.

Like baby hangers. What? I need baby hangers? F, F AND F, I do, don’t I?!

People. I just want to do nothing except practice yoga and hypnosis and long deep breathing and zen the F out of myself for this babe and birth and have everyone else do everything else because omfg, I just can’t handle it.

At least not today. Probably not tomorrow either. I think I can count Wednesday out, too. But maybe Thursday? Or maybe by Thursday Maman would have just done everything and will stop pointing out all the other shit that needs to be done but clearly is NOT going to be done within 12 days … like a new storm door and ceiling fan because hello, that takes an f-ing electrician.

And do I LOOK like I want to go trapsing all over god damn Menard’s right now? NO. Because let me tell you guys, my stomach is growing bigger every damn day. EVERY DAMN DAY. That’s caps for emphasis — serious emphasis as I am being 100000000% serious.

The BF and Maman and TC all confirmed this fact.

There are times during my walks with Murph that I feel the waddle coming on. Not pleasant. In any physical sense. No one wants to see heavily preg women out in public like that. Correction : I don’t want to see myself out in public like that.

I know, not much longer now and I’ll probably be longing for a freak out moment like this. But until then, I’m freaking. Out.