I have to be a responsible adult today.
This kid is due in 9 days. Nine. Freaking. Days. The LONGEST I could still be pregnant is 28 days, if my doctor were allow me to go to 42 weeks (which she may or may not, depending on many, many circumstances) but, most likely, I will have another kid in 16 days or less.
We are, as you may remember me mentioning before, not even slightly ready.
We have most of what we need. Well, except for a couple things. One of which I may have just ordered last night. And it may take 7-10 business days to get here. So, Keira has to wait 7-10 business days to be born. Which probably means I'll be in labor tonight.
Anyways. I really just don't feel like doing responsible things. I feel like lying on my couch reading and eating Ben and Jerry's (by the way, Ben and Jerry's has a flavor now with fair trade, and subsequently slave-free chocolate in it, which fills my heart with joy. If you have no idea what I mean by slave-free chocolate, you should go here, to the blog of the lovely and talented Maria, and spend less than 5 minutes educating yourself.)
But I can't lie on the couch today.
Because within 16 days (probably,) we'll have a baby.
And I have a HUGE laundry list of things to do.
Like wash baby clothes. Now, understand, this seemed like it wasn't at all a big deal yesterday. Because I was looking at this small bag of clothing that I'd purchased from Goodwill for Keira and thinking, "Yeah, no problem, that's like a half a load."
Except, I'm an idiot.
What I totally forgot was the fact that, at our baby shower, we got 80 acres of baby clothes, and blankets, and washcloths, and other things that you have to wash before using on a baby.
Annnnddddd, I also just remembered that I forgot to ever write thank you notes. So if you bought me a gift and think I'm a jerk, I'm not. Ok, yes, I am. A little. But I'm mostly just really forgetful.
This has nothing to do with this blog, but I JUST ORDERED PIZZA ONLINE. I'm pretty excited about this, because I didn't have to wait through the annoying fake person on the phone telling me all of Domino's specials. And, I know, I know, I'm trying to eat better, but I've been doing really well with that and sometimes you just need someone else to make you pizza. And this someone else is apparently Heather, who put our order in the over at 12:14, according to the Domino's website, which is strangely specific about stuff.
Oh, and I have to sterilize bottles. I can't remember doing this with Rhi, but that may have been because she thought bottles were evil and only breasts could dispense milk. Which was fine, except that sometimes, I really, really would have enjoyed being able to go anywhere for over 10 minutes without taking her. So when the threat of nipple confusion passes, I plan to occasionally try to get her to take a bottle. That won't be for awhile, and, honestly, I *could* slack on washing and sterilizing now, but, really - I will hate myself when I have this child if I haven't done it all. Because doing anything with a new baby is damn near impossible. I can remember begging Mike to take Rhi for like five minutes so I could just, please god, take a shower. So yeah.
And I have to check my infant Tylenol for this recall. Recalls increasingly freak me out, especially when they're for baby products.
In other news, my daughter is walking around with puppets on her feet.
Wait, can I put an update on a blog that I haven't actually posted yet? I'm doing it anyways. I'm a blog maverick like that. You can't touch me, Sarah Palin!
So, Shane failed to mention to me that, "Hey, baby, let's order pizza and I'll pay since we're both hungry and also I love you and stuff," came with the stipulation that *I* had to remove myself from the couch and go pick it up. And nothing I said to try to get out of it worked. Even when I told him that I was blogging, he wouldn't let me off the hook. In fact, he just said that I was probably writing about spiders or bats or how much he sucked and that it wasn't that important.
Which is wrong, because the fate of the world probably somehow depends on me writing blogs. Somehow. In some strange butterfly effect kind of way.
I, after much whining, did go get pizza where I discovered that "Heather" actually appeared to be a portly man with no hair and flour smeared on his apron.
And the boxes also tell you to tip your delivery driver and that they carry less than $20. Which seems like a crappy time to tell you that, after you have your pizza. And you may or may not have already robbed a driver or not tipped someone by then, so that sucks.
Sigh. I really should get up and do something constructive now. Also, I'm pretty sure that this blog is probably not at all amusing or even coherent. Until next time, blog readers.
UPDATE #2, actually written AFTER I posted!
How do I sterilize bottles again?