I am a delinquent blogger lately, partially because my brain seems to be taken up almost entirely with “BABY BABY BABY” these days and I didn’t want to bore those of you out there to whom this would not be particularly interesting, and partially because I was working like crazy in March to finish up a bunch of projects so I could start my maternity leave. I did finish them, and am a lady of leisure until such a time as the baby decides to make her appearance, but I finished up my last project and immediately came down with a cold, and spent most of my available blogging time last week moping about the house, watching old episodes of Mad About You that I had planned to save for after the baby’s arrival.

On the “BABY BABY BABY” front (speaking of fronts, mine is HUGE) I was full term last week and am now in that uncomfortable, exciting, and terrifying no man’s land between fully-cooked-baby and fully-delivered-baby where you do loads of tiny laundry and try not to panic because in less than a month, there will be one of those baby things LIVING IN YOUR HOUSE. Mike is, of course, completely zen about all of this, and helps me off the couch and checks to make sure I haven’t gotten stuck in the bathtub and takes care of yardwork while I drink juice on the deck. I am generally astounded by how he manages to keep his wits about him in the face of what is about to happen, but this is not new behaviour for him and one of the many reasons why I married him (i.e. so that things continue to get done around the house while I sit on the couch under a pile of cats and daydream about eating raw cookie dough with a glass of wine on the side).