K.I.D. Positive - 35 weeks

Shit is getting Super Serious.

It is insane to think that Herbert could really come any ol' time he wants to. Granted, I've still got 5 weeks left, but you never know. He might come in the middle of this sentence. ...nope!

So! According to the doctor, he's "on the bigger side", but appearing quite normal. I am still in a sort of denial about the whole thing, which must sound ridiculous, but I really don't think it's going to sink in until they're pulling his 'bigger side' out of me. Life is strange.

His crib has elephants and monkeys and things. I haven't gotten him a mobile yet, but I figure George will be plenty for him to grab at for a little while. George is doing great, by the way. Experiencing some intact male frustrations, but he'll just have to let his pillow girlfriend field those complaints. He got his teeth cleaned this morning because pet insurance makes drastically more sense than people insurance.

Life is also stupid.

Home life seems to constantly teeter on nuclear family bliss and nuclear fallout horror. I feel my teeth have become sharp and my need to protect Herbert has me gnashing at things I used to let slide. Alcoholism, mostly. Not my own, of course. Oddly enough, despite having alcoholics in the family, I've never had it or any other substance get on top of me. I do not take this fact lightly. It's a friggin' miracle. But my patience for it (alcohol) has worn impossibly thin and I fear that Err-Bear will just have to take his man-advice from me if sobriety isn't in the nuclear cards.

It isn't just my home life teetering, either, 

but in the words of a fictional blue fish with short-term memory loss,

"When life gets ya down, you know what you gotta do?

Just keep swimming.

Just keep swimming.

Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming..."