Sleep is the New Black

Next week, I'll be in my 24th week. So I'll be starting my sixth month of pregnancy. Can you see the rainbows and glitter shooting out of my butt yet?

Pardon my mood. I haven't slept in a week.

This is the stage of pregnancy where everyone around you gets excited because you are visibly pregnant, but not yet the sweating, swollen, twin sister of Violet Beauregard.

People manifest their excitement through a lot of tummy fondling, conversations with my belly button and serving me food first at dinner parties. And none of this bothers me one bit. Mainly because in certain circles I am known as the Queen of Pregnant Belly Molestation, so fair is fair.

While everyone else is getting their pregnancy bliss on at my expense, I have entered the "HOLY SH*T! RED ALERT! stage of pregnancy. Yea!

Over the past week, it has occurred to me that I'm supposed to actually prepare for being a mother in more ways than simply eating pints of chocolate chocolate chip ice cream and contemplating, then dismissing vacuuming my floors.

Did you know you need to get a room ready for this being? Oh and take some classes on how to get it out of you and how to feed it and how to not break it. And apparently you're supposed to buy supplies for these things because they don't come in an all-inclusive kit-type thing.

I know, I was surprised too.

Luckily, the dogs considerately woke me up EVERY.SINGLE.NIGHT. this week so I could devote enough of my brain power to stressing about these things I haven't even considered yet.

In case you don't know, I may have a slight tendency compulsive need to be the Champion of Everything. So when one of the dogs woke me up at 3 AM because a leaf fell out of the tree in the front yard and, boy, was he going to tell that leaf which way was up, well that seemed like a good time for me remember I totally forgot to sign up for a birth class which apparently fills up three years in advance. (Seriously, can't I get credit for watching every episode of "A Baby Story" and call it good?)

Or the night after, there was a thunderstorm which sends another one of the dogs into a full-on PTSD attack. So while I was wrestling her shaking, panting body off of mine and into the dog crate, I decided I probably should have ordered some baby furniture by now. And then stressed since I clearly was not being the Champion of Baby Furniture Ordering.

So I made a nice two-page list of things I need to do before The Bean makes her appearance. And I was pretty sure I'd be able to get through the list since I've never NOT completed a list I've created--because then I wouldn't be the Champion List Completer. But I forgot to add things like "Work 60 hours a week at your day job," "Sleep," and "Continue doing daily chores like cooking dinner, showering and breathing."

So I'm beginning to stress.

In an attempt to let me sleep through an entire evening, my husband brilliantly locked all the dogs in a room last night, then closed our bedroom door, turned on the noise machine and off we floated to a pleasant 7-hour visit to dreamland.

He's the Champion Awesome Husband.