It's bad enough that no one reads my blog. I mean, what do I expect, really? But the thing is no one CAN read my blog because of this FTP problem I'm having. I won't go into detail, let's just say it has to do with broken pipes or something. Whatever that means. Meanwhile, I'm delighted to report to no one in particular that the midwife came for a visit today. She does one home visit before the actual homebirth, mostly so she knows her way here and doesn't get lost at 2 in the morning trying to find the place. Anyway, she agrees with me that I am, indeed, carrying a long baby. We both came to this conclusion after being able to feel the baby's cute tiny little feet poking out from behind my collarbone. I am so, so ready to be done with this particular pregnancy.
The children and I had a delightful evening. One of those evenings, you know, where nothing goes right. Jack started things off by breaking his Jemimah Puddle Duck bowl because he was playing with it and let it spin off the table and onto the floor. (Have you tried reading any Beatrix Potter books lately? The ones we were raised on that we thought were so great? Take it from me, they're really very strange.) Then he and Eli basically fought over every toy they could get their hands on between then and dinner. While Jack whined about being hungry and wanted to know when dinner was going to be ready, anyway. He asked me this question about five billion times. After dinner, we continued with the fighting and the not sharing until bed time, when we had fun delaying and procrastinating. Then there was all the crying at bed time. After that I settled down for a good long hour of ER, which made me feel better. I took a few years off, and now the show feels all fresh to me again. Nice and fresh and bloody.