In which I complain endlessly.

Why are the cats so dang HOT?  They must be a million degrees.  And they're draped all over me all the time.  Bah!

And everything hurts.  It hurts.  My shoulder hurts with these sharp spasm-y pains that drag me out of bed at 4am and make me re-evaluate my decision to lift groceries, or children, or the tv remote, even.

And how come, with hundreds of toys scattered from one end of our lives to another, Samuel wants to play with my anti-acid tablets more than anything else?  Leaving me, at the 4am wake up, with searing acid reflux and no way to fix it.  Except for sitting morosely in the kitchen drinking half a litre of milk that qualifies as much too expensive to to drinking in this fashion.

And I timed myself, and I can lie on one side for up to 2-3 hours before I have to face the agony of turning over in bed.  Let me explain how a hugely pregnant woman turns over.  Fist, she prepares herself mentally by waking up.  You can't stay asleep for this operation, I'm afraid.  Oh, and get up and pee now, too, otherwise you'll just double your wake-ups.

Now heave your bottom half from one side to laying on your back, prop your top half on arms and push over.  Now you're on your back. Careful, because you can't breathe on your back so you'll need to move pretty quickly.  But also, your whole body is waiting for an excuse to turn into a giant muscle spasm and you don't want that to happen either.  Now gently and slowly rotate your top half into the side position you want, and then heave your bottom half over to meet it.

Now you're lying on your other side.  Try to fall back asleep again.  I hope you peed, because otherwise the shifting pressure of the baby is just going to make you have to do it now.

And man, I hate every last piece of clothing I'm wearing.  I can't stand them.  I want to throw everything away and buy a pair of pants that will stay up all on their own.  How come maternity pants don't do this?  Did the manufacturers just say "it's funny to watch a waddling duck-woman hobble down the street clutching her own waistband, so let's make them baggy and saggy and impossible to use with belts?"  Is that what they said?  Because it feels like it, it really does.  These are the same jerks who decided that no nine-month pregnant woman is going to be nursing, and so let's make it impossible to find a maternity top that opens for nursing.  Cause there just can't be anyone crazy enough to be doing that.  In fact, let's make all maternity clothes just slightly more elasticized versions of clubwear.  Because you know what I feel like slipping my lithe little self into this morning?

That's right, JEGGINGS!  How did you know, oh powers that be?

I can't even find my feet, let alone struggle into a bloody pair of maternity pantyhose.  I'm about five pounds away from requiring a sponge on the end of a stick to reach everything in the shower. 

In stark contrast to my first baby, I have no intention of figuring out how much I've gained this time around.  Suffice to say, enough to give life.  That's a good enough answer for me.

And now, off to watch UK Antiques Roadshow again until I can somehow fall asleep for an hour or so and then leave for work by 7am to be there in time for the computer repair people.  Who better be bloody well able to repair said computer because it is Thursday and I have, read it, NO bulletin, NO music insert, NO set of lecture's pages, NO readings, NO parish newsletter, NO offerings input, No answered emails...in short, if the computer isn't fixed by today I'm going to have to type everything into Word at home, which will take hours, and then project it all onto a screen or something for Sunday.  And I don't know how to do that.  And you know what, I'm not going to learn.  So there.