People have asked me, “So, what on earth are you going to write about for your next post after all this?”

That is probably the easiest question I have been asked in this last week because I knew exactly what I would blog about today-

My kid.

Happy birthday, James.

Mama.

P.S. I am sorry if this embarrasses you.

P.P.S. Ok, not really. I have been waiting to foist mushy, public, mom displays of affection for my teenagers on them since I was enduring the same treatment from your grandmother. You know, for sheer revenge.

P.P.P.S. NOT that revenge is ever a good thing to do, son.

P.P.P.P.S. Unless of course you are ever shoved down to the ground on the playground by a kid with the nickname of “Meany Mikey” because he wanted your turn on the monkey bars and you said no. In THAT case you absolutely have my permission to take your carton of milk at lunch and bag of cheetos and pour the contents into his coat pockets.

P.P.P.P.P.S. Not that I would ever do that or anything.

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Anyway, just take the high road. It’s easier. Although it also means you will probably have fewer interesting stories to tell when you are grown up. Which isn’t all bad and means that you probably won’t have people calling me when you’re 34 and tattling to me about your blog.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. And, son? Don’t take revenge on me for this by writing about my incontinence in my old age. I’m your elder. Show some respect.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Thank you for talking your little brother into doing whatever the freak it was that prompted this photo. It’s pretty much made my life. Just so you know.

Boring as hell title, isn’t it?

Sorry, I used up all my imagination and hilarity on THIS today, so you’ll have to forgive me.

My fabulous photographer friend, Brigitte, took time out of her very busy week to spend a half-hour shooting some belly shots of me yesterday. I think every pretty photo I have ever taken was due to her talent and mad camera skills.

I’ve never had photos of me taken while pregnant, so I was excited. I had plans to get my hair done (it’s been forever since I’ve been to the salon) and a buy a couple of new shirts but Christopher being home sick from school nixed that. So, I just wore some camis I had on hand and dealt with really bad roots and funky, wavy, air-dried hair with split ends.

She still made me look pretty damn good.

At 37 weeks, I am in the final stretch. The baby is thriving and weighs 6.6 lbs according to today’s ultrasound. The OBGYN told me today that I could deliver a HEALTHY baby boy at any point.

I’m not sure if I’m ready.

Scared to death would be a more accurate description.

THRILLED would be an understatement.

He asked if I wanted to induce labor at some point to make it easier on me. I said NO. My early babies have all had problems. Waiting may not eliminate that but I want him to come when HE dictates if possible.

Even though I am not willing to risk starting my labor, this pregnancy needs to end.

In a GOOD way, please.

Because it is affecting everything and I really, REALLY need to get my body, mind and hormones back in control before I destroy or damage every thing and relationship in my path.

Ugh.

I’m such a downer. Here-have some photos. It will totally cheer you up. You know, if gestating depressive women are your thing. :)