Lots of traveling lately. I had a business trip to Texas two weeks ago that was about as miserable as I expected and a vacation trip to Disneyland with a few girlfriends last week, which was as fun as I expected. As great as adventuring can be, it's nice to finally have my feet back on the ground. With 7 weeks to go, I'm ready to be home in my nest, expectantly peering into the sky for the first signs of Mr. Stork.
The kid and I are doing fine. Kickin' along. Literally. It seems like it's been a pretty easy pregnancy so far (knock on wood), at least compared to the stories I hear. And, boy, have I heard stories. It seems like every mother I meet either absolutely loved being pregnant and thought it was a wonderful, beautiful experience, or they alone had the hardest pregnancy of any woman on the face of the planet and they were miserable the whole time, including hiking to the hospital uphill both ways in the snow. I suspect that, as in most things, somewhere in the middle lies the truth.
I'm doing okay though. I'm fortunate to have a job that I can do while pregnant and a spouse who is ready and willing to provide me with back-rubs and home-cooked meals. So we're just floating along, playing the waiting game at this point. I haven't been overly hindered by my expanding shape, though it will be nice when I'm not barred from hot tubs or the occasional cold beer. Mostly I'm just excited to meet the kid on the outside and see what this whole parenting thing is all about. Between you and me, I think Shawn and I can handle it. The munchkin and I are getting along well so far. I expect that will continue.