That's a good way to describe me and my current predicament. Well, not actually a predicament, but...
I'm pregnant. Again. Yes, faithful reader, you read right. Bambino numero tres is on its way. And lately, the boys' energy level has me wondering what the hell I was thinking, having unprotected sex the day I thought I was ovulating (turns out I was off by two days, but that's entirely beside the point).
I won't give an exact due date since my children and my body choose to ignore them. What can I say, except that I'm a slow cooker. Jack was thirteen days late, and Ted showed up eight days late. I'm anticipating that this one will be Baby New Year 2009 at St. V's hospital.
Maybe it's my age, but this pregnancy has been much rougher than my first two, and on par with the previous one. From week five on, morning sickness reared its ugly head and only last week very slowly began to loosen its grip. Oh, it's still holding on, but it's no longer constant. Small consolation, but I'll take it.
So that's why I've been Miss Crankypants for the past two months. And I've only just started telling people. I feel more guarded this time around, mostly because of the miscarriage. I just didn't need anyone (read: my mother-in-law) all in my face about how things are progressing if the results weren't going to be good. Not after last time.
Yeah, so hope springs eternal. Like: Maybe it's a girl (but probably not). Maybe it'll be calm (but, again, probably not). Maybe I'll go into labor on my own this time (yeah, don't count on that). Honestly, I'm just praying that the baby is healthy. That's really most important.