There's a book called "The Littlest Dinosaur," in which one of the dinosaur's eggs does not hatch for a few extra weeks. Finally, the daddy dinosaur, tired of taking care of the other babies himself (since Mama is busy with the egg), shouts, "Do something!" at the egg. I KNOW JUST HOW HE FEELS. I know, I'm still technically a week away from my due date, but for Pete's sake. Do something, Jemonis! No contractions, no pain -- I really want me some pain, which sounds weird under any other circumstance -- and no other signs that labor is imminent. Other than that I dropped yesterday, but that just means I have NO maternity shirts that cover my ginormous belly.
Then, today, because I guess I'm nesting or just desperate, I cleaned for an hour, made banana bread, and made regular wheat bread. Oh, and did laundry. Then I had to lie down for an hour because I hurt so much. And not the good hurt, the kind that says "something" is happening. Dang weight gain/center of gravity switching. Thank goodness for Dora and Boots, because otherwise how would I do important things like bring the baby clothes up from the basement? And, um, update my blog?
Add that to the fact that Spencer's room is nowhere near done, to get it done I have to move a buttload of crap (sorry, it's been that sort of day) upstairs to the garage, his stuff is still in what will be Sabrina's and Sasha's room, and Sabrina's stuff is all still in what will be the baby's room, to the fact that the baby is still in my room (my body, actually), and you have a recipe for, well, mostly naps and/or tears. In succession, of course. Usually tears come first, but not always!
Despite the rather gloomy tone I'm taking, I really feel okay most of the time. Then I a) think about what needs to be done, or b) do a lot of what needs to be done, and either a) go back into the cry/nap cycle, or b) hurt, and go into the cry/nap cycle. Maybe I need to watch me some Dora and Boots instead of trying to be productive. Hmmmm....