due

so today is my actual due date. i can't speak for every pregnant woman, but i think we all hit a wall in our pregnancy at some point. (i have hit the wall, spun around a couple times and exploded into flames.) i have had fake contractions so long now that i'm contemplating naming the baby Braxton Hicks Scheib. my back and joints are killing me and butch said to me the other day, "but you only gained 25 pounds with this one..that's not bad." i replied, "25 pounds that is hanging off the front of me like a bowling ball...let's strap ella (who is a 25 pounder) around your waist with duck tape and see how long you last!!" he just stared and then said, "oh, i never thought of it that way." and that's the thing with these men...they don't think. can you even imagine if a man had to do this!? my favorite part is when he tells people, "yeah...this is it, this the last time we are getting pregnant..." we?! we!? do you have a mouse in your pocket, pal? because i'm pretty sure you got to partake in the fun part of the pregnancy (the actual making of the baby) and i'm the one that had to endure the rest. he better cover his testicles and run at this point...and make sure he stays quiet. very, very quiet.

last week i took off of work, because dealing with a gaggle of 5 year olds was at the bottom of my list...and quite honestly, i just didn't have the energy or patience needed to not hang a child from the ceiling by his toes. i was looking forward to a nice, relaxing couple of days...finishing up the last of my nesting endeavors and hanging out with ella. the week was going well until thursday, when i was cutting up a banana for her lunch and she was sitting (not riding) on the tricycle that was in the house. i heard a thud...and then a scream. when i went around the corner, she was face planted on the hardwood floor and the tricycle was toppled over. i picked her up to assess the damage and i kid you not...it looked like muhammad ali himself (during his heyday...not parkinsons pappy) took a blow to her mouth. there was blood spewing everywhere. of course, i was wigging out...this was her first major injury and i was home by myself, pregnant as hell. so i went through the normal questions...do i call 911? the pediatrician?....social services and report myself?

i tried to remain calm, but as i took in the situation; she was covered in blood, i was covered in blood...and the dog was licking it up off the floor. (cripes) i then started crying with her. (holy shit, get yourself together.) so long story short, i called butch (who rushed home from work), the pediatrician (who told me to call a dentist), and took her there immediately to check her two front teeth. friday i ended up having to take her to a pediatric dentist to get a second opinion...the good news is, she will not have to have her front two chompers pulled. (a fear i had, as they both looked in bad shape...and all i could think about was having her to go through the next 3 years without her 2 front teeth, hillbilly deluxe style.) so, in conclusion, she spent approximately 172 days with the sitter...not one injury. 6 days with me and almost loses her two front teeth in an in house tricycle accident. fail.

this morning she was walking around the living room like this:

as i laughed, i was thinking that quite honestly, she is probably safer this way. maybe she is trying to tell me something: "last week i almost lost my teeth mother, i'm not taking any more chances." (she was laughing her head off under that bucket.)

and so, i sit and wait for this second child to make an appearance. i am anxious and annoyed...and ready, oh so ready. everyone that has the pleasure (i'm using that term loosely) of crossing my path the next couple of days just better tread lightly...or they may end up with a protective bucket over their head like my almost 2 year old or running for the hills covering their genitals like my husband.