I seem to have entered a certain realm of pregnancy that leaves me horribly…uncertain…about pretty much…everything I do. Because I have this sneaking suspicion that I’m supposed to be doing something else. But I cannot for the life of me remember what.
Mercifully, I haven’t screwed anything up too badly, though I did miss a doctor’s appointment last week – which made me feel rotten enough to, ahem, cry a little bit – but at least I haven’t left the stove on or mortally offended anyone dear to me by standing them up at a crucial moment (though my dad did have a dream last week that I ditched him for some friend named Joanne. Because I was thoroughly unrepentant in the dream, he announced, in the dream, “That’s it! It’s over between us!” When he told me about the dream, in real life, I gasped, “You broke up with me? You can do that?”).
Still, I have this awful feeling that I was supposed to be doing something tonight besides reading and composing beautiful butcheries of Christmas carols on my guitar.
I suppose I’ll find out soon enough if I’m right, won’t I?
In other news, this weekend we hit Four Months, which puts us awfully close to Four-and-a-Half Months, which is quite alarmingly close to the Halfway Point. There seems to be no appropriate response to this except to throw one’s hands in the air and yell, “Ah!” a lot, in a delighted, terrified and slightly manic way.