We closed on our house Friday night.  Then we drove over there, where I proceeded to freak out about pretty much everything I missed during the first showing.  The second showing.  The home inspection.  And the walk-through.  How did I not notice how dirty the sides of the dishwasher were the first time?  For the love of God, why did I not check the freaking dishwasher?!

Because I was not at level-10, freak-out capacity when I first walked through the house.  I was actually sane, not some batshit crazy, first time homeowner who is peeling contact paper out of her new kitchen cabinets at 10 at night.

You could probably say my stress level is a little high at the moment.

But here’s why.

Moving boxes

I am living out of these.  And no sooner will you pack your Flinstones vitamins in a box that you have your husband move to the new place, you will realize you forgot to take your Flinstones vitamin for the day and have a slight internal meltdown that you are not enjoying the delicious generic red flavor of Barney Rubble.

Side note: XBox controller spotted!  (It’s like the Where’s Waldo of the nerdy, gamer world)

Because this first picture doesn’t give you a clear enough view of the nightmare that has become our apartment, let me show you the other lazy picture I took from the couch where my big butt has been planted while stressing out about the rest of the packing that needs to be done.


If we camp out somewhere between the couch and the desk tonight, we might be able to reach summit, or the laundry room in the back, by morning.

I also decided to take the following picture.


Apparently we have our priorities straight around these parts because the XBox is the last thing that will be getting packed, and don’t even suggest that Tony might want to put it in the box or he will stare at you, choking back a disgusted snort that you would even think of such a crazy notion.  “Woman!  There are still hours in the day that can be spent playing Halo!  Good day to you!”

So naturally, with all the stress and chaos that has been surrounding me, I frequently go to my happy place.  Which just so happens to be an avocado BLT.  Listen.  I don’t judge your happy places.

Avocado BLTIf this writing “thang” doesn’t work out, I could probably make it in the sandwich industry.  I’m just sayin’.  That’s a pretty damn good-looking sandwich.

And because this post has mainly become an easy-peezy picture book (because I’m tired, so that’s what you get), why not post a few pregnancy-related 26 week bump photos, shall we?

My belly is getting huge and this little boy-part-adorned mini-critter I’ve been hauling around all day is starting to get some-sort of heavy.

26 Week Pregnant Belly

We’re moving around here, not cleaning mirrors.  I make no apologies.

26 Week Pregnant BellyOooh snap!  Things are a-popping.  This week especially has been a “week of growth,” which is code word for “all of a sudden even the UPS guy at work is congratulating you on your exciting news based on his observation of your freakishly large new ab region.”  It still takes me aback when people congratulate me or ask when I’m due without knowing for sure that I’m pregnant and a very small part of me (very small indeed) wants to look at them sideways with a confused look and ask what they’re talking about.  You’re commenting on my beer gut?  Thanks a lot, ya’ jags!

No, I won’t do that to anyone.  I promise.  Not even the UPS guy.

26 Week Pregnant BellyHere’s the attitude-model-glamour pose where Tyra Banks would probably yell at me for not smiling enough with my eyes.

We’re getting down to 14 weeks left and I’m starting to feel like I’m not sure how there will be room for my stomach AND a bladder AND a baby if things get any more cramped.  One needs to go.  And my gut instinct tells me the baby’s probably going to stick around for a little bit.  So.  Bladder it is, then.

We also find we’re calling him all kinds of incredibly ridiculous pet names that he’ll grow to hate us for down the line.  So far he’s Foxy, which is a given and something that is probably making my poor mother cringe as she reads it.  He’s also Foxy Locks, Foxtrot and the Fox-ness Monster.  It’s getting weird, I am aware of this.

On a side note, one of Tony’s friends calls him Squirrel.  Get your woodland creatures straight, man!


It’s getting late and we have quite a bit of painting ahead in our future tomorrow, but I hope to check back in with you folks after this week is up and my one big wish for this week is to not have strangled my poor husband over paint samples.  Warm Khaki Biscuit Buttermilk Pancake or Buttercream Sage Sand Dunebuggy Mermaid?!

Wait.  What aisle do I go down to just find the beige paint?