Update

I am issuing this update to report that I have nothing to report...

The baby is due on the 30th and the doctor seems to think she will wait until at least then to come.

And with nothing to do but watch the World Cup, walk the dogs, and make unnecessary trips to the grocery store, I am getting a little anxious. I find myself getting excited at the slightest bit of pain that might mean something. In fact, I've never looked forward to pain so much. And that makes me think I might be going a little crazy...

This has been the longest week of my whole life.

Three Weeks to Go!

Most of the time I feel like I look like this:

But despite feeling like an ogre sometimes, I'm pretty excited about getting so close to the big day! Any advice for a soon-to-be mother is appreciated!

Define: Pathetic

Let's take a look at the top three most pathetic creatures on earth:

#3 The Fainting Goat

#2 The Three-Toed Sloth

#1 My Dog Chase

Chase has known trouble. We don't know exactly what happened to him before we adopted him, but we do know he was neglected and abused. To this day he is deathly afraid of suitcases for some reason, he cowers at loud sounds, and when you call his name he avoids eye contact and tries to sneak into a corner. And the trouble just seems to follow him. Since we adopted him, we've been to the vet at least a dozen times. He's cut his eyelid open multiple times resulting in a scratched eye and has had it stitched back up multiple times. Based on how he veers wildly and hits into tables and stuff when running, we think he could be going blind. Occasionally he just refuses to eat. His eyes run. His nose runs. His toenails fall off. Whenever I accidentally drop something, it will land on Chase's head without fail, making him cower pathetically. If you happen to stretch your legs out while at the dinner table, you will undoubtedly kick Chase in the face on accident.

A few weeks ago he had been playing fetch when he came and sat next to us with a toenail that was completely bent to the side and bleeding. He couldn't walk. He just sat and looked pathetic until we took him to the vet the next day. You know its bad when the first thing the vet says when she sees you is, "wow, this dog just can't catch a break, can he!"

This week, he was playing with Lando and somehow ended up with a bite mark deep through his snout. One more scar for his already scarred little face.

And at five o'clock this morning, Roo and I woke up to Chase huddled next to the door of his closed, reeking kennel. He had thrown up all over his bed. So we spent the next twenty minutes cleaning up doggy puke. And as I was taking Chase to the backyard, I observed to my dad, "having a baby is going to be a piece of cake after this!" He agreed and, I think, secretly thought his daughter was a little crazy escorting sad little Chase to the backyard.

Crazy, perhaps. However, I like to believe my dad when he says that Chase is my "Get into Heaven Free" card. I'll get to the gates of Heaven with Chase (who will by then probably have only one eye and three legs) and the angel guard will take one look at me holding the pathetic, helpless dog under my arm and be like, "yeah, just go on in."

Then he'll usher in all the sloths and fainting goat owners.