It has been a crazy day today, so let me take just a minute to get my head together.

We went to the doctor yesterday, and have no progress to report.  Everything is perfect (the baby is head-down), but there’s no evidence that we’re moving into any early labor any time soon.  So the contractions that have kept me up nights?  “Practice.”

I went this morning to get my flu shot, which our company provides, free of charge.   After standing in line for half an hour, which was fine ’cause I was chillin’ with my coworkers, I reach the front only to be told that I need a doctor’s written permission before they’ll shoot me up.  Luckily, an old black nurse was in the cube next to us, and she said that I was fine if I was in my third trimester.  Note to all pregnant moms in my position: saying “I’m in my third trimester and can practically smoke crack at this point” does not plead your case.  Regardless, the old black nurse finally stuck a needle in my arm.

I spent last night painting with Kari for Bryan’s set, which was fun, but OHMYGOD, I hurt today.  I was stupid and sat on a concrete floor for an hour or so. 

In an hour, I have my work-baby-shower.  I’m excited because there is food there.  I doubt there will be a big turnout, because it’s at work in the middle of the day, but still.  THERE’S FOOD THERE. (I’m slightly hungry.)

I adore my husband.  That’s nothing new, but I thought I’d throw that in there.  I couldn’t have asked for a better partner.

He makes my parachute yellow.