I am so, so impatient right now.

I have reached a point that, aside from the obvious being physically ready to be done (which I've been since basically the first month or so), I am psychologically fed up. I'm bored with being pregnant. Shopping for baby stuff is no longer a sufficient distraction. I'm tired of buying stuff to put in the closet. I want the actual baby to put in the things I've bought.

I guess maybe part of it is her arrival suddenly seems imminent. Up till now the amount of weeks I had left still seemed like a pretty good chunk of time. Eight or even six weeks, say, while not a long time in the grand scheme of things, is still a considerable wait. Now, however, we are (as of Thursday) just four weeks from her due date. I have had the 23rd/24th stuck in my head for a while now and if that turns out to be correct the we are looking at more like three weeks till the big event. That is the very near future, no matter how you slice it. And yet it's still 25 days or so away and 25 days is a long time when you are waiting with bated breath. Were I terribly busy it would fly by, I'm sure, but I am not busy and I've been so bored lately that the days are just dragging. This pregnancy has NOT flown by. It seems like I've been pregnant about twice as long as I already have. So I have no reason to expect the final few weeks to zip by.

Being that I will be considered full-term as of Thursday I find myself looking for any sign that something is happening - contractions, the baby feeling as though she's dropped, etc. I haven't seen anything promising yet -- which means exactly nothing, as I had major progress prior to going into labor both times without ever having had a contraction. I was nesting a bit yesterday and somewhat today, too -- but people can nest for weeks before anything actually happens so I'm not putting too much importance on it.

Bottom line is, I'm ready, ready, READY to have this over with. I am really looking forward to this spring and summer. They hold a lot of promise. There will be a new baby, Abbey Road on the River, my parents' visit, summer vacation bringing a nice break from the routine of school and practices and homework, and a trip to California (my first in a year). And through it all I will be back to feeling NORMAL after three-quarters of a year of utter crap. This means I will be able to enjoy all of these things rather than just getting through them and wishing they were over.

Yep.....I don't know about anyone else but the end of March can't come quickly enough for me. Let's get on with it, already.

Why is it necessary for me to have to articulate concepts like, "Don't lick the cat"? I mean, honestly, isn't that the sort of thing that should go without saying? What is with these people??

I am a major animal lover. I think animals are wonderful and fascinating and, usually, adorable. I love going to the zoo or the aquarium, I can't watch the National Geographic channel because I can't stand to see animals being taken down by predators, I won't watch shows like "Meerkat Manor" because I'm afraid one of the meerkats will die and it will break my heart, and I think animal abusers should be abused in return for what they've done. By all rights I should be someone who loves having pets, right?

Wrong.

Imagine my feelings of confusion and guilt when I begun to realize recently that I am no longer interested in having pets -- the major problem being that we have two cats right now. I am not rushing them to the Pearly Gates but the fact is, when they are gone, I have no desire to replace them -- with anything. Not even a goldfish. Honestly, if I could find the cats a good home I would be willing to give them up. That's not going to happen, though. Because of being an animal lover my conscience won't allow me to just give them to whomever will take them. It would have to be someone who would care for them as scrupulously as I do and that's hard to find. Sometimes I think it would be easier if I were the type of person who could just drive them down to a shelter and drop them off. But, then, I wouldn't want to be the type of person who could do that and not be bothered. If I did something like that it would, no exaggeration, make me guilt-ridden for years or possibly for the rest of my life.

They are very nice cats. They do have a few behavioral quirks. These things can be inconvenient, at the best of times, but, right now, with me being exhausted and short-fused all the time they are magnified by a hundred. The cats get on my nerves a lot. I'd be perfectly happy if I didn't have to deal with them -- and yet my conscience won't allow me to do anything about it. If something bad happened to one of them today I would be heartbroken. That doesn't even make sense, does it?

I'm just tired, that's all. I'm tired of taking care of animals. I have had animals continuously for at least 17 years now. We slogged through all our years of major traveling having to make arrangements for the pets every single time we went somewhere. Then I'd spend the entire trip worrying that some tragedy would befall them while we were gone. We had thirteen guinea pigs at one time before Madalyn was born. 13 guinea pigs in 11 cages, y'all. Do you have ANY idea how long it takes to clean eleven guinea pig cages? Or even just four or five? And I did it every. single. week. for eight years, from the time we got our first gp till the time the last one passed away at the end of 2005. And do you know how many miles I logged driving them to the vet (a hundred miles away), how much money we spent on them when they were sick, how many hours I devoted to their nursing care? (You wouldn't believe it if I told you.) I've simply had it. I am tired of the work and I'm tired of caring so much. Robert occasionally makes noises about getting the kids a dog when they are older but we are going to have to have a real come-to-Jesus meeting about that because it's not going to happen. I just can't do it. I know who would end up doing all the work, all the cleaning up after and all the training, and for what? So I can spend every vacation for years worrying about it and then have my heart ripped out when it dies? No way. It's not fair to a dog to have its primary caregiver be a person who would really rather not have a pet and it's definitely not fair to me.

People predicted to me before Madalyn was born that I wouldn't care so much about my pets once I had kids -- as though the pets were a substitute for a child and I'd have no use for them once I had a real baby. Things DID change after I had kids but not in the way the naysayers were postulating. I don't care less about my pets' health and well-being, nor do I care less about animals in general. It's simply that I have so much more to handle now with the kids that taking care of animals seems like all work and no fun at all. THAT is why I am done having pets. It's not that I have relegated them to some sort of second-class citizenry just because I have something "better" to replace them. My children are expected to respect animals and treat them kindly; the cats have not become "just animals" who are here solely for the kids' amusement. I am very vigilant in seeing that the kids are being kind to the cats and treating them properly. I have been known to remind Madalyn on more than one occasion: "Those cats were here long before you!" So, while they may cause me some angst, they are definitely not ill-treated or neglected, nor ever will be.

So where does this leave me? Well, complaining in my blog, and that's about it. As I said, there's no way I'd ever find another home that I'd deem suitable enough for them, which would be the only option I'd consider for giving them away. Basically we are all stuck with one another. Hopefully once my physical and mental states are both back to normal I will be less aggravated by them and we can all coexist peacefully for as long as we have left together. However, hormones and exhaustion aside, it won't change the fact that I am ready to be pet-free (whenver that happens, and I'm not rushing it, so I would appreciate not having any nasty surprises from the cosmic universe. I've got enough on my plate right now without sick/injured pets).

Did I miss a memo somewhere? One that stated that the Federal government was outlawing wedding dreses with sleeves?

I understand that the long, 80s-style sleeves are out. I don't miss those, personally. But, my gosh, what is with the completely strapless dresses? Does anyone even make them with any sort of sleeves anymore? My wedding dress had short sleeves and was very pretty. Looking back on it I don't think it looks dated at all. Who are these unseen, mysterious people who declare, from on high, that it's suddenly gauche and shameful to have sleeves on your wedding dress?

It's not that I'm anti-strapless-dress. Some of them are very pretty. And they look great....on the right people. However, there are some people that really should not be wearing strapless gowns (myself being a prime example). From what I can tell, all consideration for what might be flattering on one's figure has been tossed out the window. If you get married you cram yourself into a strapless dress whether it's the best idea or not -- just because everyone else is doing it. I hate the sameness, the sheeplike homogeny of it all. What happened to variety? What happened to expressing individuality? Who decided that the official hip bride uniform now consists of a strapless gown and a tiara? I mean, seriously -- a tiara?

Before I get any comments from brides who wore strapless dresses, all hurt because I'm dissing their gowns, it's nothing personal. I'm sure you looked beautiful and were very happy and had a lovely wedding. Like I said, it's not that I specifically dislike or have anything against strapless gowns. I'd just like to see a little variety. Every bride I see, on t.v., in pictures, in advertisements nowadays looks exactly the same. Same dress, with very few variations, and same headgear. And, while I'm sure many chose that look because they honestly like it, I have to wonder how many others go that route because "it's the thing to do". Anyone who knows me well knows that if everyone else is doing something I'm going to do exactly the opposite -- so I guess that's what bugs me.

I am so incredibly, unbelievably bored.

I don't know why this boredom has set in. My pet theory is that I am sick and tired of being pregnant and am dying to meet this little one, which has made everything else seem pale and dull by comparison. If that's the case I'm in trouble because I still have another 7 weeks to kill (6, if I'm lucky) before she arrives.

It's not that I have absolutely nothing to do. There tons I could, or should be doing. It's just that none of it is very exciting. Nay, it is of a stricly of a utilitarian nature -- such as cleaning my house before the midwife comes for the home visit and is so horrified she declines to return. I could also.....hmm.....nope, no "also". It's pretty much all housecleaning. And if you think my house can't possibly be messy enough that it will take 7 weeks to clean your faith in me is charming. Ignorant and entirely misplaced, but charming.

Anyway, so I don't know what might help me to shake off the unrelenting boredom. I'm not sure if it would be alleviated by more plans more grandiose than toilet scrubbing or whether I'm just going to be bored and impatient no matter what until this baby is born, after which I will transition gracefully to overworked and exhausted. The upside is I will likely be too worn out to be bored, so it's an improvement.

This month we are planning to take a family trip down to Dallas one weekend -- hopefully weekend after next. Perhaps planning that will give me something to look forward to in the nearer future and help some time to go by quickly.

You can bet, though, that come 36 weeks I am going to print out a list of tricks purported to help start labor (the safe ones, anyway) and I'm going to start at the top and work my way through. And if it doesn't work by the end of the list I'll start over again. I'm pretty sure I'll skip the castor oil, though. I don't know if I'd ever be THAT desperate to give birth.

Okay.....WHO SENT ME MALLOMARS?

The UPS man brought me a package today and, inside? Four boxes of Mallomars. I almost fell on the floor!

There is no name on the package and no packing slip of any kind inside. So now the mystery has begun. Who is my Cookie Fairy?

And, equally as important, can I keep from consuming an entire box in one sitting?