The doctor is wrong. My due date must be January 3 instead of February 3, as there is no possible way for my body to continue to increase in size.

Disturbing sight. I'm old-fashioned in that I think the proper way to mop a floor is on your hands and knees. I don't trust the countless mopping gadgets, and considering the amount of money we've dumped into the floors in this house, I'm not taking a chance on a gadget. In addition to being old-fashioned, I have terrible knees. Therefore, I wear volleyball knee pads when I mop floors. As part of Nesting Palooza 2010, I decided that the downstairs floors needed to be mopped. A beached whale crawling around on its hands and knees donning Wilson knee pads ... disturbing. However, I have clean floors and can cross that item off of the list.

Not yet. The ride home from family holiday celebrations was a clock-watching ride, as every 7-10 minutes there was some kind of randomness starting in my back and working its way around that didn't feel normal. (Not that anything going on with my body is normal at this point.) Matt wanted to call the doctor when we got home. I opted for the "chug water and relax on your left side" instructions. Seemed to help. Feeling better today, but my back still feels like I've been kicked and not sure if the belly feelings are baby moving or more of what I was feeling last night.

Eeeek. The Starbucks barista could not get my order right this morning, and wanted to make my drink a triple ... that would be three shots of espresso. It crossed my mind to tell her she was coming with me for the day if my drink contained that much caffeine. Her job ... to hold down this kid's arms and legs.

Stats. Had another appointment today. Heart rate was 131 -- down from 150 at the last appointment. According to the books, the baby now weighs 4.7 pounds and is 18 inches long. Uh, yikes.

Dear Kittle's Sales Associate ... You suck. I was ready to throw money at you tonight if you would have been able to find the time to show me some nursery glider options. I realize I looked like a slob, but last I checked, sweatshirt + jeans + ponytail does not equal brain dead. Therefore, don't try to tell me two chairs are exactly the same when I can see a price difference and my feet don't touch the floor in the more expensive model. Furthermore, go get your eyes checked. Cream and white are not the same thing. Unfortunately, I couldn't give you a lesson in knowing your colors because you left us to go deal with another customer. Rest assured that my hormonal brain has forgotten your name, but I will not have difficulty remembering your face the next time I am forced to enter your store.

Quote.

"When thinking about my To Do list for the day, I never expected that this would be part of it."

Said by Matt, and don't ask what he had to do. It's going to the grave.

Eating is painful. Regardless of what I choose to consume, this kid goes into action. Karate kicks. Back handsprings. Right uppercuts and left hooks. It hurts. Unfortunately, this conundrum does not appear to have a solution.

Couldn't take it. Went rolling around under my desk today to pick up the Sweet Tart.

Slob. Dropped a Sweet Tart, and it rolled under my desk. Normally I'd immediately be on the floor, moving whatever needed to be moved to grab it and toss it in the trash. Not today. I left it. It wasn't worth the effort of bending over.

Dear Sweet Child,

Please quit playing tetherball with my internal organs.

Sincerely,
Your Loving Mother

Stats. Heart rate at the appointment today was 150. Asked the nurse about the old wives' tales that predict the sex of the baby. She said they're all crap. Regardless, I pulled up the Chinese Lunar Calendar when I got back to work ... according to that, we're having a girl.

Toilet paper. My advice to pregnant women everywhere ... blow the budget when it comes to purchasing toilet paper. In light of how frequently one with child visits the loo, the cheap stuff is not a good thing. Trust me.

Stats. Had another appointment today. Heart rate was 128 -- down from the 141 at the last appointment. The baby is now supposed to weigh about three pounds and be approximately 16 inches long.

I swear. This kid has decided it's done taking a ride with me, and it's going to beat its way out of my belly.

Old man butt. While I am in love with the stretchy waistband of maternity jeans, I am not in love with how they fit my derriere. Within minutes of sliding my very disproportionate body into the things, I can feel the material begin to sag. Sure enough, a check in the mirror always reveals a butt that looks like that of an old man (droopy, no shape, pancake'ish). They make those fake bellies that you find in the changing rooms of maternity stores ... maybe I can find a fake fanny to assist me with this issue for the next 10 weeks.

I miss my brain. I found myself squirting Windex on an upholstered chair this morning. I thought it was Febreze.

My perfume ... coffee ... new tires on Matt's car ... peanut butter ... cigarette smoke ... randomness barfed up by Archie ... laundry detergent ... I read something today that the baby's sense of smell has developed, with him or her now having the ability to smell what I smell. Couldn't help but wonder throughout my day what the baby was thinking of the smells I had the fortune (or misfortune) of encountering.

How lovely. Sneezed tonight, and got more than I expected. You are correct ... my bladder was not able to stand up to the force of the ahh choo. And I repeat ... how lovely.

Pinot Noir. Oh how I miss you on a day like today.

First baby shower today. A fun day with lots of thoughtful gifts.

Massage. I have a gift certificate for a massage, and offered as a service at the spa is a maternity massage. Yet, I can't bring myself to schedule the appointment. Who the hell is interested in rubbing down some prego woman's body? And I just Googled prenatal massage tables ... there is a hole in the middle of the table. Necessary, I know. However, I view that hole as a public toilet ... and I don't think my baby would appreciate being dropped down into such a thing for 90 minutes ... even if there is music and incense. The gift certificate doesn't expire for another year. I think I'll treat myself to a postnatal massage.

Halloween. I may not have dressed this kid up and trotted around the neighborhood, but I did my duty in introducing candy. Snickers, 3 Musketeers, Twizzlers, Smarties, Dubble Bubble Bubble Gum, Tootsie Rolls ... got kicked when chowing on the Tootsie Roll, so maybe that was the fav'.

Pumpkin eggnog. Just bought some at the grocery. No non-pregnant, sane person would purchase such a thing.

Willpower. Gone. I ate sushi tonight.

Stats. Had another appointment today. Heart rate was 141 -- up from 126 at the last appointment. According to the books, the baby now weighs two pounds and is 9 inches long.

Squish. Bending over to tie my shoes or pick something up now results in me making awful noises and feeling like I'm squishing all of my guts up into places they are not meant to be squished.

Missing. My belly button. In its place is some stretched out, weird looking thing. Please don't let it turn into an outie.

Night owl. This kid comes to life after dark. Feels as though 10:00 p.m. is the designated hour for gymnastics practice.

Dress code. I see nothing about bras being required at work, therefore, I'm considering not wearing one. Why is it necessary to shove these monsters into something that just pushes them up to my chin, squeezes my ribcage, and equals one more obstacle in getting to unmentionable itches?

Finally. The hair under my arm pits has stopped growing at record, disgusting speed. Another side effect I have not read about.

Kicks. Kicks that stop me in my tracks. I fear this kid is going to come out with legs the length of Matt's.

Blurry vision. To the point I thought I saw a bug crawling on my desk at work ... turned out to be some sort of visual fuzz. According to the books, this is supposed to go away.

First purchases. A gender-neutral diaper bag that Matt has agreed to carry, and a sleeper.

Goodbye Joe. My Joe's Jeans ... my favorites. You lasted until week 23. When the ponytail holder being used in place of your zipper was gouging my gut so much that it was monopolizing my thoughts and leaving marks, I knew I had to call it quits. May my hips not permanently expand, and may I see you again soon.

August and September. No posts ... guess I slept for two months.

Sciatic nerve. Starting to walk like an old woman.

Next. Have to switch swimsuits for the lake. The girls are getting too big for the suit I bought this spring. Lovely.

Don't understand. Since getting knocked up, I produce eye goobies like a champ. This is not a side effect I have read about.

Maybe. Just maybe ... I might be starting to feel better.

Mexican food. In the past four days I've eaten some sort of Mexican food, and I'm contemplating how to work it into tomorrow's meal plan.

Slept. All. Day.

Dumb. At the lake for the weekend, lost track of time on the boat, and didn't eat for hours. Felt awful. Remedy was a chocolate milkshake from McDonalds.