All swoll up.

Well. That was annoying.

What I mean to say is, we moved! It sucked royally. I think partly because I'm pregnant and partly because I'm an idiot who apparently doesn't know how to pack.

But here's the thing. I did 90% of the packing and preparing by myself. By the end of it I was so fucking frustrated at the shit that kept appearing that I was just throwing things in boxes with no rhyme or reason. Oops. I realize now that I should have been more firm and made Micah help me, but my initiator personality just takes over and I have to get it going whether I have help or not. It's the finishing I have a problem with. The first boxes' contents were carefully identified on the outside, and everything fit in the box just so. The last boxes? Well, last night I unpacked a purse, a sponge, 409, Avery's toenail clippers, a baby name book, and some dirty socks all from the same box.

Which is to say things went downhill right around T-minus 12 hours. We even had movers and the shit sucked royally. Why did my back and feet hurt so bad if we hired movers? Yo no say. I guess I did a lot more than I realized.

Which could be why my ankles are so fucking swollen. Yes. Swoll up like the 7-month pregnant chick that I am. It's kind of terrifying, seeing your ankles like that. I should have known that's why I had trouble getting my river sandals on this weekend, and why they gave me blisters on my ankles.

River sandals? Yes. We went camping and floating. I actually can't believe I've been friends with certain folks for twelve years and that was the first time we've gone camping together. A travesty, really. The camping was fun, but the floating was not. Besides blood shed, drowning, or a wicked case of the trots, traffic jams are a sure fire way to ruin a float trip. You could barely see the water there were so many people. There were literally thousands of floaters, which means tens of thousands of beers were consumed. And whoa, the tramp stamps. You've never seen so many in your life. Also? Guys get so much gayer when they drink.

Anyway, we all survived (barely).

We're still getting used to the new apartment. Meaning myself and Micah. Avery is in hog heaven. The yard is fenced and there's a dog that lives outside who belongs to the maintenance guy. At first the dog terrified me, but that's just his through-the-fence demeanor. He's all business until he realizes you live there, now he just wants to come in our place and score some cold water. There are several dogs in the building, which means Avery essentially has another dog park right in his backyard, which blows his mind. You mean there are furry friends to chew on and chase? All the time? Suddenly I'm totally boring to him.

Living on the first floor is a dream. I had safety concerns at first, as anyone living on the first floor in the city might. But basically there's a guard dog outside our bedroom all day and night, one who looks menacing and barks like a badass. I love that I don't have to haul my ass up and down lots of stairs every time Avery wants out. Love it. And when my arms are full of a baby and all her gear, I'll be very thankful that I only have eight stairs to climb instead of eighteen. That sounds so lazy, but whoomp, there it is.

Lastly, I feel very pregnant lately. I pee all the time, and little miss seems to think kicking my bladder when it's basically empty is hilarious. Cuz then I run to the bathroom only to eliminate about a teaspoon. Talk about annoying. People are finally saying I look pregnant, which is both fun and mortifying. Baby showers are in the works and ankles are swelling, so there must be a baby just around the corner. Whoa.