Unhappy Pregnant Lady

You know all of those women who swoon over being pregnant?  The kind who enjoy every moment and never want it to end?

I am not one of those pregnant ladies.  Thursday marks my forty weeks and quite frankly I'm done.  I'm ready for the labor portion of this experience.  I'm ready to have my baby and start figuring out how not to kill him -- in other words, learning how to care for the white pasty grub that will be my child.

I'm tired of strangers, friends, and family telling me what I can and can't do.  "Oh!  You're pregnant so you really shouldn't lift that heavy thing" or "Gardening is probably not a good idea."  Um, dudes, I may be immobile, but I am sure as hell not happy about it.  

I am definitely not happy that grass has come up all through my rose garden and garden garden and my body is too awkward to effectively pull any of it.  Normally by this time my fingernails would be caked with dirt and my face would be sunburned from all the time spent focusing on my plants.  I love my plants.  I miss my plants.

So, instead of being in the dirt, I've been making chickens.  I will try to post a picture later.  The do look less like mens genitals... even though Alex still sees the resemblance.  It's one of those things where once you point it out you can never get rid of the picture in your head.  Whoops.

Hopefully my "practice contractions" will soon turn into real ones and I can see what sex Brian is.  Alex is dying to know.  He's also dying for the two weeks off work.

Alright, I'm going to go watch an hour of True Blood on HBO then clean my craft room for Mindy who will be visiting for ten days and sleeping in the midst of all of my material.  Awesome.