I'm at what, 31, almost 32 weeks now? It's almost time to have this kid.
I can tell. I can tell by how I feel. How I can't think at all, how when I drive places I have to completely focus my attentions on the task at hand, can't even listen to the radio, have to ignore Molly if she's flipping out over something, because if I let my mind wander from driving for one split second we'll plow into the car ahead of us. And I'll be all "the heck?"
I'm so bored. I can't focus on books. I can barely focus on magazines. All I can really commit to is television, and only barely. Mostly I just want to curl up and pout.
Molly is taking great advantage of my malaise. There are Cheerios on the floor in places where I didn't even know we had floor. And I don't care. Maybe Dug does. If so, he can drag out the vacuum and deal with it. If I drag the vacuum out, it'll never get put back away.
I'm broody, damn it.
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