Man.  I don’t know about the rest of you working class, but this is about the point when my “it’s a holiday weekend coming up” starts to kick in.  I have no motivation AT ALL to do anything.  I have stuff I could do, but it’s all kinda meaningless and busy-work, so I’m finding reasons to stall.  I’m putting off being productive until after the holiday.

Which means I’m shopping a lot online.

Steph sent me a link to Nine West’s new line of jeans (email subject line: “So there is a God.”), so I started there.  But since I’m not quite in the “normal” jeans again, I went back to my loves: Old Navy and Gap.

And it’s in!  The fall lines are here!  Tweeds, wools, sweaters, boots, herringbones!  Rich colors, great textures, and tons of layering options.  This is my season.  My hair matches everything so well.

This weekend signals my favorite time of year.  It starts on Saturday at 7:05, when Bama kicks off its season with a new coach.  Then the weather will start to cool down, and every Saturday will be spent around a tv.. napping, while we pretend to watch the SEC.  There will be leaves to rake, and chilli to cook, and FUDGE.. oh, this makes me very, very happy.

Since I have a few more hours today to kill (tomorrow is pretty much swallowed whole by a meeting), I ask you: what do you visit online when you’re trying to kill time?

I realized, when I woke up this morning, that I am never pregnant in my dreams.  I never have a child, I’m never bulging around the tummy, and I’m just me.  This has both concerned me and fascinated me since I made this connection.  One, because I feel the need to sit up and verify that I am, in fact, still pregnant every time I wake up and two, because I fear that my psyche has not yet accepted the baby.

Not that the psyche gets a vote, mind you.  The baby is coming, for sure. 

And get this: I will begin my 27th week of pregnancy on my 27th birthday.  Odd?  Yes.  You pair that with the fact that Tony’s conception was on THE IDES OF MARCH, and it’s incredibly likely that my child will come out with a 666 on his forehead.

Then there will be a battle of epic proportions to determine who the real anti-Christ will be.  Because we all know the other contenders out there.  I’ll buy a ticket.

Although I’m slowly creeping into the uncomfortable phase of pregnancy, I’m starting to find a lot of peace with it.  I enjoy the kicking now, and miss it if it lessens.  I cry just thinking about holding Tony for the first time. (Yes, me.  I’m that girl now.) And when we brought crib pieces in last night, I was suddenly struck with the knowledge that my baby will sleep there.  My. Baby.  Weird, huh?

But my favorite story about Tony thus far (other than his massive man-parts, which are still the stuff legends are made from), is that all of “my guys” here at work give me a hard time about the baby. (I say “hard”.. it’s just a lot of male ribbing, which I can give out as well as I can take.) They accuse me of faking the pregnancy, telling me I’m just trying to hide the extra weight I’ve put on. (Which is when I point out their gray hair, bald spots, and “baby weight”.)

One meeting, I was sitting at the computer, and was holding my tummy as Tony was being especially active.  One of those same managers walked by, and said, “Quit acting like there’s a baby in there!  There’s just NOT.”

And my son, the one with our comic timing, kicked my belly so hard that my badge flipped over.

He is SO our kid.