Eviction notice

The food in my refrigerator is mocking me.

It goes way beyond the morning sickness that has come back with a vengeance - which is, apparently, quite common at this point in pregnancy - or the lack of room in my stomach to put anything nourishing. There are at least two, probably more, items in my fridge with the sell or consume by date of May 25.

My due date.

I look at the milk and think Oh great, I have another 10 days before this goes bad! And then I realize Oh crap, I still technically have 10 more days until this baby is actually suppose to spring forth from my lady parts. You don't even want to know how I feel when I look at the yogurt.

Time is funny that way. Six of one, half dozen of another. It's all perception and right now I perceive my head to be hitting a wall over and over again.

If I have to go all the way to term I might hurt someone. The last few weeks are hell on a pregnant woman and, to me anyway, the second pregnancy's ninth month is particularly horrible. Now that things are basically squared away in our lives, the baby has the blessing of everyone to come at any time. No more stressing and sitting with my legs crossed, I want to get up and walk and get this damn baby out. But walking around Target feeling like I'm carrying a bowling ball between my legs is no picnic. However, if I have to suspend a rabid cat from my pelvis to add to the weight, dammit, I will be walking. And jumping. And "running" up and down the stairs. Anything to expedite the passage of this child.

So consider this your eviction notice, child of mine. It's closing time at Chez Mama. Last call and all that. If you stay any longer you're going to start funking up the joint. Take your placenta and leave.

And please don't let the door of my uterus hit you on the way out.