
It’s almost over. Part of me feels like a college graduate all over again; that I’m entering a new world, leaving the cramped dorm life and entering into a new reality of freedom. And part of me is sad to see it all go. It could be my last time in this situation – maybe. The last time I’m pregnant.
Sure, I want my old skinny body back . . . if that’s possible. I look forward to tying my shoe and playing piggy back with my oldest son, whom I feel I’ve neglected these days. I’m just too huge and tired to chase him on my knees and roll around with him on the floor.
I’m 38 weeks and 2 days pregnant. I’m a planet by this time. I could go into labor at any moment. He doesn’t understand that. I wonder what goes through his tiny mind. ”So what! You’re fat, mom. Just deal with it and chase me! Make me giggle! Be the mom you use to be! What’s wrong with you?!” Instead, I sit on the floor like a bloated whale, awaiting a chance at being normal again, sad that I can’t play with my son. Unable to explain to an 18 month old.
I don’t feel ready. We’ve done the maternity pics (see above). We’ve washed the carseat and the bassinet. But, we haven’t washed the clothes or packed a hospital bag or organized the baby’s room to my liking. I fret and stress, but I know it’ll get done.
In the end, I won’t be pregnant anymore. I’ll be a mom of two and those things that matter so much to me – like cleaning the base boards and organizing the hall closet, won’t matter so much.
I’m a house. 


Days were spent preparing for the beach, grocery or souvenir shopping. The grandparents took our son for the afternoons which was really nice and beneficial for all involved – this way they got to know each other better, and I got to gather my sanity again.
The high point of the vacation was watching our son enjoy the sand and water. While not sure of it at first, he quickly reveled in the mess and the salt, even pausing to put a cigarette butt or a piece of already chewed gum into his mouth, much to my horror. 



