At least I don't have to worry about knicking my ankle when I shave

This is what my right foot looks like right now.

OK, so it's not actually my foot, but it may as well be. I tried on my church shoes tonight and they won't even buckle, so I guess I have no choice but to wear my flip flops tomorrow. Nine-month pregnant ladies get a pass, right? I could probably wear sweat pants to church and no one would think the lesser of me. Say, that gives me an idea...

All my bags are packed; I'm ready to go

I'm ready. You can come any time, baby, and I'll be ready. My house is clean. My laundry's done. All your newborn clothes are washed, folded, and put away. I hauled your car seat from the shed to the garage and set up your bassinet. I got out all the baby toys from the closet and and made sure there were fresh batteries in the swing. I paid all my bills and stocked my refrigerator and pantry. I've done my visiting teaching. We finally ordered another camera. All of my maternity clothes are too small. So are my flip flops because my feet are swollen beyond recognition. I waddle. I can't sleep and I get heartburn after eating anything besides carrots. Please, baby. Give me back jeans that I can zip up and let me sleep on my stomach. Let me eat tomatoes and walk up a flight of stairs without feeling winded. Allow me to paint my toe nails again and actually notice if I spill on my shirt. Lastly, and above all, just let me hold you in my arms and sing you soft lullabies. Let me kiss your tiny toes and smell your sweet scent. I'm ready.