It's a baby! (Just not mine...)

 

Yesterday I had the privilege of meeting Baby Zoe, the adorable daughter of my pal Aesook. Remember her? She's my preggo grad school pal who was lucky enough to give birth last month. Zoe is absolutely adorable and she was such a good baby during the visit.  I'm totally jealous.

But there's a problem when you go visit your friend's precious new baby girl. It just makes you that much more anxious to have your own. Seriously, yesterday (pre-baby visit) I was fine. No need to rush this process. I was happy to just chill out and wait for Violet to make her grand entrance whenever she decides she's done cooking. Well, not anymore. All of a sudden it just hit me - we need to get this show on the road. I'm over not being able to pick things up off the floor without looking like, well, I don't know what I look like but it can't be pretty. I also don't know what my feet look like anymore, except that I probably need a pedicure in a bad way. I'm tired of waking up at four in the morning, unable to fall back asleep (and I'm really tired of people telling me to get all the sleep I can now, before the baby comes. YOU try sleeping with a watermelon strapped to your stomach and then get back to me. Rolling over in bed could qualify for a new Olympic sport when you're nine months pregnant).

I've been feeling weird all day, but I'm convinced it's just in my head. I've been googling "what a contraction feels like" just in case I'm somehow having them and don't know it. (None of the answers were helpful, by the way. Just lots of ingratiating "you'll know it when you feel it" crap that isn't helpful in the slightest. If I KNEW it, I wouldn't be googling it now, would I??) 

My darling, long-suffering husband, probably sensing the brewing storm in that sixth-sense, scurry for the hills kind of way, offered to take me to Scalini's for the dinner one of these evenings for their world-famous, labor-inducing eggplant parmigiana. I'd go there tonight if he wasn't scheduled to be in Birmingham for work tomorrow. And Wendi's bridal shower is Saturday, and I don't want to miss that. And I sort of promised my dad (happy birthday, dad!) that I'd hold out until he gets back in town this weekend.

SIGH.

Let's look at Zoe again, shall we?

 

SO sweet.

On an unrelated note, has anyone ever tried sticking their Yoplait whipped yogurt in the freezer? That mess is good. Sort of like eating frozen yogurt, but without the guilt complex. We'll see if the scale agrees with me tomorrow when I head for my 38-week check. The midwife is going to slap on the latex and do some poking and prodding to see what's going on in there. Keep your fingers crossed. And go ahead and make me a reservation at Scalini's.