“So.. how’re you feeling?”

“Um, I’m fine. I’m ready. I’m over being pregnant.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I keep slamming my belly in the dishwasher door when I close it.”

“SARAH.”

“No, not like I’m throwing myself down the stairs to end this torture, more like I’m so huge I don’t even know where I end any more and I clearly have the gestation period of an elephant.”

*****

Last week in the office. Next week, I work virtually to give myself baby-steps in letting go. Then I’m officially on leave the last week of May.

*****

UNRELATED TO BABY: Oh, y’all. The Office ends this week. I don’t think I’m emotionally strong enough to handle this. I wondered why it was hitting me so hard and I went back and looked and realized that Bryan and I have watched this show almost since we started dating. We’ve lived through Roy & Pam and Jim & Women and then Pam & Jim. We kind of grew together as this show matured.

And not even just Bryan and I. I joined this team a year after the show started. AND I BEGAN WORKING FOR (a) JIM & (a) DWIGHT. My boss was also a huge fan and we used to gossip about Office Olympics every time we’d have a party planning committee meeting.

Don’t even get me started on Michael Scott. Sure, towards the end of his run, it was evident that the writers didn’t know where to go, but .. still. What a finely drawn character. Steve Carrell is the new guy that can make me cry without even trying.

It’s this moment where I realize that, when the show started, I had no idea who I was or what I was wanting out of life. And look at things now.

Jim & Pam, man. Best ever.

*****

ALSO UNRELATED TO BABY: last week, I graduated from a young professional’s Leadership class that I’d been taking part in since last October. It was, hands down, one of the coolest things I’d been a part of.

See, I’ve lived in Huntsville, Alabama since .. 1990? Ish? Off and on. I knew a couple of things about the city (mainly the arts community), but this class took us so much deeper into how our city is run. It gave us opportunities to make a difference, both at a city and state level, and we had so much fun doing it. The days were long and intense and tiring, but man, you’d go home sore from laughing so hard. It was a very cool environment to be with such a diverse group of folks, and know that everyone would be heard equally.

In fact, it kind of made me rethink what I want to do. As it turns out, I really really REALLY love politics.

Seriously, I’m so sad it’s over. It was a fantastic voyage.

*****

*****

In the event you HAVEN’T read it, let me end this by directing you to the amazing return post of Miss Allie Brosh, who pens Hyperbole and a Half. Allie’s unique story-telling abilities, combined with her whimsical and hysterical illustrations, provide the perfect platform to discuss darker things like depression. And if you’ve ever struggled with depression, you’ve probably had the same difficulty putting words to what you’re feeling (or not feeling, as the case may be). This post made me laugh, smile, and cry because I’ve been there too. I’m glad Allie’s back among the internets and I’m even more encouraged by the support being poured out in response to the post.

(And obviously, while you’re there, dig around a bit. Everything is hysterical, although I’m partial to stories about Dog and her childhood memories of The Party.)

I was involved with last summer’s intern cadre for our program because, well, I kind of like that stuff. I like inspiring young minds. Also, I like stealing their souls ideas. Also, there’s something to be said about hanging out with youngins at work. 1) It makes you remember youth and 2) it makes you kind of glad you’re old.

One of the interns was a lad who was a pilot. He came to us from a far off, foreign land called Raleigh, where he worked in an airport control tower. This lad loved to read. Man, like, seriously. He read text books for fun. He could recite business models to you off-the-cuff.

He exhausted me.

I knew that when he stepped in my office that I should stop whatever I was doing, because a thirty minute conversation would ensue. And he would sketch stuff out on my white board, theories like the Japanese theory of “wa” or the “green and clean” mantra about accountability and responsibility. And after he left, I’d exhale.

.. but I realized that I would go home and tell Bryan the exact same conversation.

A shuffling of office spaces landed us sitting in the same office, and I was nervous. I’d had the same office mate for years, and I dunno.. it’s just new to move, right? Have to relearn stuff? By this point, he had moved from his internship to a full-time position with us, although he had been accepted to a very selective rotational program up in the Northwest and was counting down his months left on the space side of things.

Discussing things like economics or World Wars or religion or conspiracy theories had never really been my thing at work. I’m always the first to say that I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to cash a paycheck. (That said, I like to like the people I work with and I do like them, for the most part.) But our conversations would just range from ANYTHING. From the holographic technology of Tupac at Coachella to the impact of economic embargoes on Germany, anything was fair game. (And typically illustrated on our white board.) We talked about Jack’s troubles in school, about Bryan’s company being bought out, about his life as well.

And sushi. My God, we talked about sushi.

When we moved to the new building, he was on a row behind me where we couldn’t see eachother. Didn’t matter; I could constantly throw half of a quote over my shoulder and he’d finish the rest. It wasn’t uncommon for me to mumble “Here I go, here I go, here I go again.. girl’s what’s my weakness?” and have him yell “MEN!”

So Monday was his last day. And because we’re both too emotional to be honest with goodbyes, I didn’t tell him how much I’d miss him, or how much I’d learned from him. I didn’t tell him that he’d made me realize how cynical I’d become, or how he reminded me that workplaces can totally be fun. I’m gonna miss him. A lot.

I’m not here to make friends, but it’s really cool when they accidentally happen.

(GOOD LUCK, PATRICK!)

So, let’s see. Some stuff.

Well, first and foremost, the bathroom of hell? Is done.

Even this doesn’t do it justice.

This bathroom was so atrocious that we don’t even have Before pictures to share with you. It was bad. Royal blue, textured walls with this sky-blue “marble” countertop on top of a monstrous, “original” vanity. Linoleum your grandmother would be embarrassed of. It was terrible.

My husband is a miracle worker, is what I’m saying here. He did all of it himself, hand to God, with me only supervising in the way of picking out everything before he installed it. The bathroom feels luxurious now, and I’ve actually taken three baths. (I have bathed in that room exactly once before the remodel. In four years.)

The tall ones are the coaches, FYI.

So we’re now officially into soccer season, even though the first game was cancelled due to rain. Tony takes soccer VERY seriously and MY GOD no one will get a ball into his goal. I’m not even sure he’s supposed to be playing goalie, but he knows at least that much of the rules, so he’s dedicated to the cause. Uncle Dude and Aunt Gee (whom he suddenly calls “Michael” and “Jenni”, like some sort of ADULT) are fantastic coaches who make the sport way more fun than it probably should be. The best part is that we all go to dinner together after Tuesday night’s practice, and we always stay out too late.

Tony loves practice, but AFTER practice is when the party happens.

Who cares if you win when you’re having fun, am I right?

A really big butternut squash.

The baby – Vinnie – is progressing nicely, although he is quite the excited little man. About thirty weeks is when you start wondering if he’s trying to find his way out, Alien-style, and when that didn’t go the way he wanted, I worried that he was trying to claw out using the preferred route. He’s active, way more active than I remember Tony being, but I also don’t remember what I had for dinner last night, so maybe my memory is not up to par is what I’m saying.

I go back to the doctor in a week or so, which kicks off my every-other-week appointments, and I’ll probably start looking at maternity leave at that point. I like how everyone asks me when I’m leaving, like, you know, I’m rich or something and can just say, “Oh, when we away to my summer home, I suppose,” but in reality, it’s whenever the leave is paid for.

And I can’t even complain about that, because do you know that most Americans don’t have paid maternity leave? That’s the truth. The scary, terrible truth.

Related to nothing.

Lastly: isn’t this headline amazing? I read it way early in the morning last week and thought it was my lack of caffeine that was impairing me. But no. I think I read it the right way.

AND THE CREPE MYRTLES ARE EATING OUR BEAVERS HERE, GUYS.

I feel like this has become more robotic than ever, and for that, I apologize. I could slap together another “Stuff I Bought” post (which, really, I love), but c’mon. I have no groundbreaking reveal there. I could tell you about readying our house to sell, but .. um, that’s all planning right now, so I’m not even blessed with Before & After pictures to share. I could fill you in on the recent Private School Woes, but .. to be honest, if I go public with those, it will be to media outlets, so. I’m just kind of tired.

Also, FULL DISCLOSURE: This is shaping up to be a post where I write about how I have nothing to write about. Feel free to click elsewhere. I would.

I’m not even in a bad head space, honestly. I’m just over..wrought? Over..committed? Over..beingpregnant? I feel like I have no head space for ME, which is being highlighted by my idea of reading one book a month. ONE BOOK. OVER A MONTH. This is proving too challenging for me. Me, who used to devour books in a day. I am now 35% through Gone Girl, which I didn’t even have time to start until a week ago, and I’m gloomily accepting that I may not make my month-end deadline.

Every minute feels like it’s spent catching three other balls, which is fine. I know this is temporary; this is just the Now. But maybe being a full-time student while working full-time was a bit optimistic, is what I’m saying. I hear stories of people doing it, making it work, but I don’t know HOW. Then again, I can’t IMAGINE being in school for longer than a full-time course load would force. I want to be done NOW.

And then there’s the stress of a baby on the way, with nowhere to put him. Do we room the two older boys together? They are six years apart, with one on  the verge of Teenage Years. I don’t think that’s fair (to either kid). Do we room the two littlest ones together? They are five years apart, with one being a newborn. I don’t think that’s fair (to either kid). We’re looking at baby furniture and trying to figure what would take up the least amount of room but has other pieces available for when we move into an unknown house and MY GOD, I want to be done NOW.

The house. Oh, the house. Our house is actually in pretty good condition, just needing some typical wear-and-tear TLC before we list. But there’s the time aspect of having contractors in and out (I cannot/will not do much of the labor here), and the money aspect, and then the showings and I WANT TO BE DONE NOW.

This all sounds very whiny, and I know that. In my head, the tone is NOT whiny; it’s just urgent, sounding very much like a FIVE ALARM FIRE all the time. Not whiny, just persistent. All the time. Like the running ticker during a weather situation, scrolling along the bottom of my mind no matter what else I’m doing, with that constant BRRRRP BRRRRP BRRRP every two minutes to catch your attention.

(There is also the car dilemma, also the school dilemma, also the private school dilemma, the work dilemma, the other work dilemma, and the list scrolls and scrolls and scrolls.)

So here is my question to you: What is your favorite Girl Scout cookie? In trying to avoid stress overload, I’ve asked this of anyone within earshot, and I have found the answers to be very polarizing. For instance, I am not a Tagalong fan. AT ALL. However, I would cut someone for Samoas. (I have found that there is common ground for all in Thin Mints.)

This morning, we all piled into the ultrasound room at the OB’s office: Tony, Bryan, and (obviously) myself. The goo was squirted, the machine whirred, and we all stared at the screen.

And there it was, plain as day.

“Congratulations!” the tech chirped. “Aren’t you guys excited?”

Bryan and I tilted our heads both ways. We had seen many ultrasounds in our day, and yet.

Tony was unfazed. “Is it a male or a female?” he asked stoically.

“It’s a boy!” she announced. And then we could breathe.

Really, my main goal with every visit is to just to ensure that there’s just ONE baby in there.

****

He’s a dancer, this much is known. Last night, Bryan felt him kick for the first time, which I’ve been having the pleasure of for a few weeks now. What were initially flutters now cause me to stop and take pause, which freaks the engineers out constantly. I’m clearly not having the baby, guys, I’ll soothe them. But he’ll let me know when he’s displeased or pleased or energetic or feeling Michael Flatley. He’s quite the mover.

****

Okay, fine, this is the REAL ultrasound.

Yes, clearly that’s a boy. (?!?) I’m sorry, but that looks like a TSA screening of a bowling bag.

He measures perfectly, as do I .. except for the weight gain. Oh, I knew this was coming. I don’t know WHY I’m gaining so much, so early, because it’s not like I’m gorging. In fact, I rarely eat sweets anymore. I eat full meals, three times a day, and it turns out that my body likes to keep those meals around. Namely on my hips and thighs. Make smarter choices, my doc coached. (I love my doc, I really do. He’s a good guy.) Don’t be deceived by liquid calories. He says this like I have not monitored every stupid bite and sip I’ve ingested since I was 18 years old.

“Oooh, great idea!” I replied. I’m an actress.

****

Bryan was supposed to leave for Columbus, Mississippi, after the ultrasound, where he was staying until Saturday, but we were hit with a freak ice storm that left all of us homebound. Roads and bridges were closed pretty quickly and I had flashbacks of snOMG of 2011. Tony indulged in some Shaun the Sheep for a few hours while Bryan and I worked from home, then we all took a nap, and when we woke up, the sun was shining. We have not seen the sun in – literally – over a week and a half. Maybe two weeks. It’s rained for WEEKS on end.

The most maddening part about the constant rain is the many times we’d glance at our floors and say, “Oh. God,” because, you know, we have three dogs who constantly run in and out. We tried mopping daily, but within fifteen minutes – no lie – it was as if we never did anything.

Mabel, who we affectionately call Little Dog, was the worst. There is nothing she loves more than being out in the inclement weather. We’re not sure why, but she’s always been this way. We have to lock the dogs in when it rains, or it’s a guarantee that she’ll be out there, just sitting in the rain, surveying her yard.

Even today, as ice and sleet were pelting the city, she was out, wandering in it. She stayed out most of the morning, only inside when we locked the dogs in.

It was her way. It’s when she was happiest. Well, I take that back: her happiest involves the boys out in the inclement weather with her.

****

We got home from dinner tonight, after most of the ice had melted off, to find fresh mud and dirt tracked in the house. Belle, our youngest dog, was particularly covered in sludge. What in the hell?, I chided her. It hasn’t even been raining. What made you this dirty? Beau was also covered. We went about our bedtime routine with Tony, and when he was in the bath, Bryan mentioned that we hadn’t seen Little Dog in awhile.

He went out in the yard to look for her while I checked on Tony in the bath. He met me in the hallway.

We lost her.

On the one end, she truly was happiest outside. I firmly believe that she went painlessly, and in a peaceful way. On the hand that will bother me for awhile, she was alone when she passed.

Until we realized.. she wasn’t. The dogs were covered with muck because they stayed with her.

And maybe we should all be so lucky, you know? That’s love.

****

Mabel was my first baby, adopted when I lived in Louisiana in 2000. I would often call her our oldest child, because she was. She was every bit a mutt – deaf, squatty, one ear permanently raised – and had been returned to the shelter several times before I found her because her owners called her a “behavioral challenge”. She wouldn’t respond to their commands. I soon learned it was because she couldn’t hear them.

She had the sweetest disposition of any dog I’ve ever, ever owned. She was fairly grumpy in her old age, but only with the other dogs, and only when they would bother her. She was incredibly gentle and sweet with every child she ever met, an amazing “training” dog for the boys in particular. In fact, she was of such a great temperament that I often debated training her as a therapy dog.

She may have been sweet, but she had TONS of personality. For being a deaf dog, she could communicate marvelously well. For instance, she could talk. I know. I KNOW HOW SILLY THAT SOUNDS, but really! She would howl when you came in the door, and it straight up sounded like Mrs. Doubtfire saying “HeelllOOOOOO.” And she had no idea she was any smaller than our 60 lb lab. She was, in all ways, a spitfire of a dog.

I am sad to have lost her, just because now I have another baby boy for her to train.

Tony told me that it’s okay. His teacher’s mom died, too, he said. She will take care of Mabel in heaven.

And as she had for me, for many years – Mabel will take care of her too.

****

So it’s been a day. Highs and lows and everything in between.

They say there’s a season for everything.

I think typically they don’t all collide in one 24-hour period, though.