The stuff dreams are NOT made of...

... third trimester woes. Can't seems to catch a break on the sleep front. Lying down is so uncomfortable at this point; I'd rather just wallow is a kiddie pool filled with jell-o. Lord knows I'd be good at that because I spend all night wrestling with my pillows and sheets.

Nothing works. My back pops; my hips burn; my legs are twitchier than hot chocolate-fueled kid on a snow day. I hate to complain, but maaaaaaaaaan, this is getting old. Perhaps I'd be less cranky if there were better shows on at 3 a.m. Having to choose between the Steam Shark and Abs Blaster 9000 infomercials are just as bad as having a splitting pain in your butt. Believe me, I can vouch for the comparison.

Being awake with no sounding board (once Jesse is out, he's out) means my mind is free to wander. I am now having mini-panic attacks about the 2.0's impending arrivals. We have so very much to do to prepare and such little time to complete them all. At this rate, she'd have to bunk in one of my larger handbags. She'd also have to wear my pre-pregnancy yoga clothes. Can you believe I haven't bought a single stitch of clothing yet?!? It's not that I don't want to, it's just that the timing hasn't been right. Pretty soon though, the timing will be mandatory.