There is no rhyme or reason to this, but if you were to ask me how I’ve enjoyed the pregnancy thus far, I would say to you: “I think my baby is two weeks further along than everyone else thinks it is.”

Like I said, I have NO idea why I feel that way.  But I do.  I feel like we’re into the eighth month, EASY, and that the baby is almost ready to pop.  I have always felt that way, since the first trimester, when I came back from California and was already showing.  ALREADY SHOWING, PEOPLE.

Last night, I had a sudden tremor so intense that it made me get up and move around.  Bryan knew something was up, and all I could say was, “I swear he just stuck his hand out of my nu-nu.”

That would be my child, the one who claws his way out, defying all reasonable expectations set forth by authority figures.

Tony was much more content when he was higher in my abdomen, where he could spend the day just leisurely grazing my rib cage with God knows what limb as I tried to work.  However, since he’s moved lower, he’s miserable.  I don’t know why; perhaps the view is not as nice down there.  But either way, he has been more active since his descent than he has up until this point.  Even now, my belly is jumping as he throws another tantrum in my gut.

I would love to tell you that I feel bad for him, but I really don’t.  I can now breathe more easily (this is not to say I’m not winded half the time), and my boobs now can hang at a normal angle (versus the “sitting on my belly” boobs of before.. oh-so-attractive).  So really, I just want to tell him to get over it.

But no, he has the stubborn italian nature of his mother, and through 3/4 of last night, continually danced a paso doble on my bladder.  Friday, our medicinal cat, tried his best to calm the baby by laying directly on Tony’s face and purring, but Tony wouldn’t have it.  He then directed his anger at Friday, and soon the cat left.  It probably freaked him out to be pelted by some unseen attacker.

Another change is my body temperature.  While it has been oddly low for most of the pregnancy (it averaged at 97.6, which is way low for me), I’m now consistently running high.  It’s like running a lowgrade fever all the time.  Which means I’m just freaking exhausted.

.. and, dare I say it, slightly hormonal.  I was in such a foul mood (after a scathing day at work) last night that I just wanted to sit in my glider and be left alone.  No talking.  You may touch (for purposes of massage ONLY), but no talking.  Why?  BECAUSE YOU MADE ME THIS WAY, BRYAN. (Alright, I never said that.  Out loud.)

Today will prove to be a better day.  A coworker and I who had quite the tiff yesterday have patched things up; I got a good night’s sleep, despite Tony’s constant tae bo routines; and tomorrow night is Book Club.

Next up on the baby front: birthing class this weekend.