I could tell you about the stress, and the stress list I have that feels like a million miles and a lifetime long.
I could tell you about the babyshower and subsequent other overwhelming acts of kindness and generosity.
I could tell you about the unbelievable amount of writer's block that I am having faced with such amazing generosity and the need to write thank you notes. As if notes could ever suffice.
I could tell you about how I am now working from home, and with Cole here with me this whole week.
I could tell you about the car accident we were almost in on our way to Sacramento, and how, though we completely avoided the collision, I am changed. Nothing like feeling as if someone has put your entire family of FOUR in danger to make you queasy about driving.
I could tell you about how I looked in several stores in Sacramento for a maternity bathing suit and came up with exactly nothing. What the hell, Sacramento?
I could tell you about how goddamn hot I am all of the sudden, and I don't mean HAWT. I mean red, swollen, sweating, lethargic HOT. $60 for a pool is looking a lot less like a frivolous expense and more like an investment in my sanity. And quite probably John's health.
I could tell you about how delicious Cole was while practicing to be a big brother over the weekend with a month-old baby girl. Her parents were awfully patient, too, for which I thank them immensely.
I could tell you about the four weeks left until I can go on maternity leave, and the mixed feelings I have over the prospect. Or the eight weeks I have left until my due date.
But really, I just needed to write for the sake of writing. To have something down; something recorded. And now that's done, and I can keep going.
