I am still alive and still pregnant. I'm finally out of the Kill Me stage and into the Baby Is Kicking Me stage at slightly over half-way through. Like everything else, we've been procrastinating on setting up the nursery and doing...well, anything. My husband isn't used to taking the initiative on home-improvement projects; usually I'm the one who gets a bee in my bonnet and throws everything out the window to spend a week stripping wallpaper, repairing drywall, and repainting. And now I can't do any of that, due to ~*chemicals*~. Meanwhile my husband prefers to play Quake III. Yes, people still play Quake III.
Him: I should probably start thinking about building the habitat for the proto-human in your guts.
Me: Yeah, that'd be good. We have 19 weeks.
Him: Wow. Guess I'd better get started.
Me: Yup.
Him: ...Next weekend.
In slightly better news, I've been absent from the net in an attempt to concentrate on writing, and though it took a while, it finally seems to be working and I have allowed myself access to precious intarblogs once more. Basically I spend my days making real, measurable progress on my WIP, which was supposed to be done so long ago I can't even think on it for shame, and grabbing my husband's hand and pressing it to my stomach. The kidlet, of course, is just like its mother and is completely uncooperative. The second my husband puts his hand to my stomach, kidlet stops moving. Kidlet has also added serious pounds to my butt. My beautiful size six butt is now a flotation device. Much of my time is spent pantsless. This is not as fun as it sounds.
Husband: Okay, let's go out to dinner!
Me: Ugh. Do I have to? Can I wear whatever I want?
Husband: Of course, you're pregnant!
Me: Okay. Can I wear these? *brandishes bright turquoise and navy blue pajama pants*
Husband: No. You cannot wear those.
Liar.
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