You’re that much a part of me now

Come monday, it’ll be all right
Come monday, I’ll be holdin’ you tight*


I sit here at my computer almost disgustingly content.

It’s really obscene.

At 39 weeks I’ve perfected my Gardulla the Hutt imitation:



All I need is a tail. Oh, and I’m pretty sure my boobs are bigger than hers. I can’t get on one of my bulletin boards (damn that Page Cannot Be Found message all to Heck). My air conditioner and my CD player in my van have both just taken a dump. Trips to the Wal-Mart have taken on a hellish quality: sweaty and unentertaining (until I get there, of course). My yard resembles a primeval jungle: damp and overgrown. I keep expecting a diplodocus to crash out through the underbrush.

I won’t elabourate on the state of floor of my dining room.

Let’s just say that if I were to mop now, I’d be violating Star Fleet’s Prime Directive regarding sentient races.

But my 3 year old can write almost the whole alphabet unassisted, my 2 year old is toilet training herself, and my 1 year old can stand up and jam to Sir Mix-a-Lot in the kitchen.

And, of course my Bitty Boy will be here tomorrow.

Oh yeah. This is what happy feels like.

The important stuff is important and the rest is just … stuff.


*Copyright Jimmy Buffett 1974