Whiny

We're trying not to take this time for granted. Tomorrow, for instance, we get to sleep as long as we want. Well, until the dogs start barking, but still. No major responsibilities--that's what Saturdays are.

Soon Saturday mornings will be about breastfeeding and cleaning up feces. Which is probably the most insensitive, cynical way to describe life with a new bundle of joy. I think I'm still not fully comprehending the emotional impact of having a child. It'll happen the moment she's born, I'm sure, but right now she's still sort of an abstraction.

So we find ourselves glumly saying, "What do you want to do tomorrow?" because our Saturday mornings have gotten a bit repetitive. What we need, clearly, is some baby feces to stir things up. Then we'll fondly remember the days when we had no plans--while simultaneously preferring our new, crazier life.

Blah blah blah. None of this is very interesting to read about, I fear. This'll probably change in a couple days, but right now I feel like we're in the slogging part of the pregnancy, the waiting. I can't imagine what it must be like for Julie, whose legs are crazy, whose stomach is unrecognizable, whose hormones are--don't even get me started on those. It's like, can we just have the baby already?

See, we're taking things for granted. Whine whine whine.