Not at My Best

It was the best of times. It was the warts of times. Warts, worst, whatever.  I feel like an angry, old hag covered in warts right about now anyway.  Vacation bliss is a distant memory.  It's been a week of Braxton Hicks, little sleep, too much baby prep and testing of the parents. 

H can't sleep with me because I'm a "loud breather" right now and I toss and turn so much these days while simultaneously moaning that I keep him up half the night.  After he leaves our precious munchkins feel the need to wake me up with requests such as, "My skin is dry. I need lotion.  Lotion all over my entire body."  It's 1 a.m.  I momentarily thought of shoving the lotion into the room via basket and telling TD, "It's puts the lotion on the skin..." 

See? I'm just not myself.  I just want to be done with the organizing of baby crap (I could do it in a day if I had the energy and army) and have this kid already.  I'm done.  I'm so over this pregnancy I need a new word for over.