33 days until my due date.  Justin thinks I’m going to have Benjamin early, which means even less time than that if he’s right.  I have a pack-n-play set up in my room:

And I am huge:

So, yeah, in 2 weeks I can “go” at any time.  That’s a little insane.  I’m glad I have those two weeks though. I still have to finish decorating the nursery (which he won’t initially sleep in, but heaven forbid I try to do it after he gets here!) and I need to wash more baby clothes.  But mostly, I’m ready.

I’m ready for lots of reasons.  I’m excited to meet my son and I’m excited to become a mother and see my husband become a dad.  But I’m also really ready to not be pregnant anymore.  Don’t get me wrong – it’s been an amazing experience, I’ve had a textbook pregnancy (for a fat chick) and really can’t complain.  I am so incredibly blessed that I’ve been able to carry this child inside of me so well, and I definitely recognize that and am grateful.  But really? Pregnancy? Not the most exciting time of my life.  I’m large and uncomfortable and my hormones are even more wacky than usual and my husband is not one of those people who thinks pregnancy is sexy, so I kind of feel like a large beached whale.  I’m ready to get back into exercising and moving around and I know it won’t happen right after the baby is born, but having the baby is a step in the right direction!

I think a lot of women glamorize pregnancy.  That’s fine.  I won’t.  It’s pretty exhausting.  And I’m one of the lucky ones who can still sleep in her bed and get a decent amount of sleep each night (even taking bathroom breaks and insane heartburn into consideration).

It’s definitely been an experience.  I’m thankful to experience it. I’m blessed to experience it. But I will be glad when it’s over.