Last night...

...Jen and Andrew came over for beer and cheesecake. I went on a bender - a sip of Jen's wine, a sip of Andrew's beer, and two cups of coffee - the last of which kept me awake and peeing all night along.

We had so much fun, guys. Thanks for visiting.

Ready

Okay, I'm ready.

Don't get me wrong. I love being pregnant. Thus far, I've been fairly comfortable, and there's nothing like having a little creature squirming around in your belly. But I'm ready.

The last two nights have been tough. I can only lay in one position for about an hour before I have to roll over, which is an amusing process, actually, accompanied by copius amounts of moaning and bed jiggling.

Dave often gets up in the middle of the night, just because. He just doesn't sleep all night. Lately, he's been out of the bed more than he's been in it. I asked him if it was my fault, what with all the beached-whale rolling and the snoring (god help him - the snoring!). He sweetly denied that I was keeping him awake, but I pretty much don't believe him.

Work is getting done. I'm in that last phase - the "what do I REALLY have to do before this baby gets born?" phase. Like the Friday before a week-long vacation, I'm beyond panicky and quickly approaching "deal with it, people."

Yesterday, we cleaned out the inside of the car. It was totally gross. I found months of old french fries. I found a piece of gauze with the band-aid still stuck to it - a remnant from one of my 40,000 blood tests 9 months ago. The trunk was an archeological dig. But now we're down to the essentials: a couple of basketballs, some inflation needes, a basketball pump, an ice scraper, and two umbrellas. Everything's been vacuumed. The car seat is in position, at the ready. The firemen are going to install it in about a week.

If I last that long.

Big

I didn't realize I was this big until Dave took this picture:

Thanks Jen!

Thanks Jen, for the great link to the pregnancy ticker. It was fun to set up! Now you all can see how much time I have left.

(19 days!)

Of course, I was actually full term two days ago, so he could come any time!

Frustrated

I'm feeling pretty frustrated.

How to characterize this frustration? Well, at present, I can't really produce to my usual standards. This is mostly true at work, since lately I've been a cleaning fiend and am actually able to take pride in the condition of my home, which is unusual.

So mostly the problem is work. But it's not just the usual "Oh, I'm so pregnant and I can't do what I used to do" thing.

The fact is, I'm perpetually bad at managing my workload. This is not in any way a new problem. This problem is what made me hire people two years ago. That was another in a long list of failed attempts to deal with the workload problem.

Because the thing is, when you are a marketing consultant/designer/programmer, you get paid by the work you produce. In order to make more, you have to produce more. Sometimes you are tempted to try to produce more than you can while still maintaining your sanity. Here are my current best guesses for how to deal with this problem:

1. Charge more
2. Decline projects

Charge more is not an issue. My prices are healthy. I make a robust hourly rate, the little annoying prospects run the other direction, and the types of organizations and business people I really like to work with never seem to get ruffled about it. So I figure I'm in a good spot, price-wise.

Declining projects is trickier. I'm totally over the idea that I have to take every job that comes at me. After more than six years, I am really good at spotting a job that won't be a good fit, either from a skills or personality standpoint, and I'm reasonably good at declining that work. But what if I really want to do the job?

This is where it gets tricky, because I do take on more than I can handle. I like money, it's true. But mostly I like what I do. Everything sounds so terribly interesting, and it keeps getting me into trouble.

So, which jobs to decline? What criteria to use? Can I spread them out more? It's all easier said than done.

Compound this with the fact that I'm pregnant, which rules out the one coping mechanism I've used successfully over the years - working my ass off, 18 hours a day if necessary. I just can't do it anymore. I may never be able to do it again. And it's forcing me to deal with an issue I've never properly resolved, although I've desperately needed to.

I don't have a hoohaa

Thanks to CNN for this alarming report.

Seems that certain parties in Florida are offended by the word "vagina." As in, "I have a vagina." Consequently, one theater changed its marquee, which was advertising an upcoming production of The Vagina Monologues. It now says "The Hoohaa" Monologues (quotes too).

You can follow this link for all the details: Video: The what monologues?*

The otherwise hip-looking comedy club owner who had to make this decision clearly felt vindicated when TV crews showed up to do a story on the marquee. His shoulder-shrugging said it all: what's a guy to do when some lady calls up and tells him she's offended that she had to tell her niece what a vagina is? I'm sure he didn't mind the publicity either.

As for me, I don't have a hoohaa. I have a vagina. And a uterus. And two ovaries. At present, I also have a placenta, an umbilical cord, and a beautiful baby boy who, I hope, will never have to deal with idiots like these.

Point taken, Jen

Incur my wrath, if you must, Jen. Remember, it's like having PMS all the time.

I'm stupified that Jen has never heard of the Great Vowel Shift. It's one of most important historical events marking the separation of Middle and Modern English. Rise of the diphthongs, baby.

My nose is running.

In other news, Dreamweaver got stupid. When you click on something in design view, then switch to code view, it used to pop you right to where your cursor was. It doesn't do that anymore, and it's pissing me off. Further dorky news bulletins as events warrant.

Oh, and one other thing. Two girls from my city who were reported missing were found dead in their car, and the media has nothing to say. A few old people in Florida are displaced by tornadoes, and we have to hear about it for 47 days. The news sucks.

Lastly, I walked into the kitchen today and started to worry that I was in the wrong house. It's that clean.