Over. It.

I haven barely begun to write when the guilt over what I am going to say is already creeping its way in, but Im just gonna say it.

I'm over being pregnant.

I'm 26 weeks, barely halfway there. Not once have I puked. My face has seen a smidge of acne - my back is a different story - but it's not on my face, so I don't care. The weight gain is primarily just in my belly, and people who don't have to endure my daily inspection of inner thigh and waist spreadage swear they can't tell I've gained anywhere else. So what I'm saying is that in the grand spectrum of pregnancies, mine is the proverbial walk in the park. But right now I just want to fast forward this thing and get on with it.

My back is killing me. A problem that plagued me in my first trimester has reared its ugly head - my piriformis muscle is irritated and keeps poking my sciatic nerve, so I'll just be walking over to get something and suddenly its as if someone is stabbing my lowback with a penknife. The pain is so sudden and intense that it gives me a goofy limp, like I'm a pregnant zombie. What really bums me out is that I'm convinced my awesome new workout tape - the one led by an eight months preggo former Cirque du Soleil performer - is the guilty party.

I miss sleeping on my stomach, and the weight of my bowling ball uterus pressing into my lungs as I roll over in the middle of the night wakes me every time. I hate that my coke a day and my holiday sweets fest is convincing me that I'm giving my baby gestational diabetes. I hate worrying over every little piece of food that goes in my body. I hate the depression that has taken a firm hold of me this past month. I hate bitching about being pregnant.

But what I love. I love that the baby kicks stronger every day, and almost always when I think about them, as if we were telepathically connected. We are already communicating, and we haven't even been formerly introduced. I love my husband's smile when he looks at my belly, his look of shock when he feels the baby move. I love that this kid, for better or worse, is gonna be a big mushed up ball of the very best and worst of us.

I think that is the main reason I'm over it. Because I can't wait to meet the little fella.

Nervous

Two doozies, back 2 back. Doesn't take a degree to figure out the mysteries within.

Wednesday:

I'm bleeding. Profusely. Down there. I know I need to get to the hospital, and of course I'm in some cavernous train-like station lost and scared. Not much plot, just terror of the impending chaos.

Thursday:

My baby - a girl in this dream - is in the front seat of a large passenger van I'm driving - like a Mystery Machine straight out of the 70s contraption. My sister is also riding along, but she is maybe 13 here. That doesn't stop me from literally flinging myself from the van as it's moving. I run after it, but clearly I can't catch up. I guess my 13 year old sister is driving at this point. I find a tricycle and use that to pedal home. The whole time I'm staring at my thighs which jiggle with the fluidity of ocean waves. I make it home and my sister informs me that they got home safely, but she had to tell on me to mom. My sister looks amazing - like supermodel body hot - while I stand ashamed in my fatness. My daughter looks ridiculous - lots of bows and headbands and frilliness.

Apparently, I'm absolutely brimming with confidence about my abilities as a mother.

Florida

I'm in Florida right now, a girls trip with my mom, sister and 3 month old Avery, my cousin and her 2 children, 1 being 6 weeks old, my other cousin and her 3 month old and their mom. And then there's lil pregnant me, a bit scared out of my mind by the babyness of it all. All the crying, screaming, spitting up, constipation, gas, and general chaos has been a little overwhelming to say the least. My poor cousin with the 6 week old - the baby cries like someone is holding a hot poker to her skin. They have tried so many different remedies based on their doctors (and friends and families' advice) and the child just screams like the devil itself is on her tail. So while the terror sent me fleeing to the bath with an US Weekly, I woke up today to see my niece roll herself over for the first time. Watched her take in the world around her and laugh and smile- and cry and spit up and drool - but this morning it didn't seem quite so terrifying.