ENOUGH!

Seriously, I'm freaking done folks. I've really tried not to complain about being pregnant. I do enjoy it -- I realize this is perhaps not normal. My baby will officially, whenever it's born, now not be a preemie. Get. Out. I'm crabby, exhausted, have heart burn like it's my job (and it is not even phased by the Prilosec, Pepcid, and Tums that I take in conjunction with each other), I have to pee 24 times a day, cannot sleep AT ALL, and am having crazy contractions every time I move. I have already gone to the hospital once to be told that I'm not "contracting enough" and sent home. I was *this close* to going this morning, but I seriously think I would have hurt someone if they sent me home again. (I mean seriously, this is my third baby in three years . . . I can't tell if I'm in real labor or fake labor?? WTF? Unless my water breaks all over the place, I won't think I'm in labor!)

I have a doctors appointment tomorrow morning at 9, and I really, really, really, really want this child out. I'm starting to waddle. I DON'T WADDLE! Don't tell me the end is almost near, I only have 9 days left, I can do it, hang in there, or any of the other feel good things you think will make me feel better. They won't. (I told you I'm crabby. In sort of the insane crazy bitch sense of the word "crabby".) I understand having a three year old, two year old, and a newborn will be difficult. Trust me -- I've had nine months to ponder that situation. (And, just FYI - having a two year old and a three year old is difficult in itself.) Don't tell me Jack's easier to take care of inside than he will be outside. I WANT HIM OUT.

Honestly Jack, it's movin' day. Get out.

PS. OK, one positive thing about my doctor potentially telling me that I have to wait until next week will be that I can get my hair cut this week. It's the little things. I'm trying really hard to think of other positives right now, but I'm having a hard time. . .