Waiting...

Good lord, is it just me, or have I been pregnant for, like, two years now?

It feels that way, at least, at two days past the due date and counting. Not that two days is a huge thing, either way. But the waiting is killing me--and I suspect it's sort of annoying to everyone around me, too.

Last time, everything was tidy: the due date was a Friday, and I went to work that day, cleaned everything up, sent a flurry of last emails about the kinds of files that are in my left-hand bottom file cabinet drawer as opposed to in the top right, and that kind of stuff, and then went home. Finished up some yard work, cleaned the house, packed the bags. By Sunday, all that was left was to tie-dye the baby T-shirts we had bought. (Note: I don't actually recommend this. Sure, you end up with cute shirts, but you'll need to hand-wash them so they don't run in the washing machine. And let's face it: you're not going to want to do that, so you're going to end up with a pile of once-worn, adorable T-shirts in the bottom of the laundry hamper for, let's see, at least two-and-a-half years.)

So we tie-dyed through the early stages of labor, and when it got to be time to clean up, I just sort of hunched on the floor, and took a shower, and eventually we went to the hospital, and the baby was out just after midnight on Monday. Not so bad, really.

I sent the same emails last Friday, more or less, expressed my utter confidence in my staff, and waved my way out the door with promises to email any news. I'm sure they were relieved to be left alone.

I've been emailing them ever since, and today on my way back from a midwives' appointment, even stopped in to drop off some manuscripts and pick some other stuff up. This, after a "final" lunch yesterday with my boss--who was, of course, in the office today when I stopped by.

Really: how many significant departures can one fat lady make?

And it's not that I'm not doing work from home, but I feel sort of guilty for packing it in early, not working right up to the end. Even though Friday was supposed to be the end.

I know! How totally lame is that, to feel guilty?

But really, without the original W.B. for most of the day (she's either at school or at Nana's every day), and with only some general editing to do, I feel like I'm on vacation. Which is nice, I guess. It just feels sort of indulgent.

Sarah Palin wins again, I guess. (Just as long as she doesn't win on the 4th, I suppose I can live with that...)

As the original W.B. has been saying to my belly lately: Come out, baby! Come out and play with us!

WTF, Sarah Palin?

Not to pass judgment unfairly, or anything. But really--and I know I'm hardly the only one asking this question--what in the hell can Sarah Palin be thinking?

Now, I know lots of people have been talking about the three-day maternity leave. That doesn't bug me so much, though I do wonder (not to be graphic) how quickly she managed to walk into the office that first time. Maybe it gets easier by Baby 5, but I remember my shuffle down the hall to the pediatrician (that also happens on Day 3), and it was none too spry.

And--no surprise here--I'm with her on the whole bring-baby-to-work thing. The Times reported today that she has a travel crib in one office and a swing in the other (I wonder, why not both in both? I mean, if you're governor and all. Probably her offices are big enough) and that she took Trig to meetings all summer in a sling and breastfeeds during phone calls. (No word on whether she has a magic nursing poncho...)

To all that, I say, you go, girl!

But still--Vice President? Like, of a whole country? As her baby (let's be generous and ignore the whole Down syndrome part of the story, not to mention the baby her teenager is about to add to the mix) is turning into a toddler?

It may be that most of the job is attending funerals (though I've done that with the W.B., and it's not the easiest thing in the world, though you do get a nice excuse to get up and walk around, which I personally find to be a nice benefit, at a funeral). Still.

It pains me to admit this, but I'm not even trying anything so ambitious--I mean, I'm proud of what I do, and all, and I like my job, but let's be honest: the stakes are pretty low at my cute little part-time, nonprofit job--and still it's kicking my ass these last couple of months.

Today, for example, on the way to work I had the bright idea that I would take some manuscripts and get a pedicure. Of course, the first place I thought of, one of those cheapy salons, had a half-hour wait, so I passed, and then thought about how nice a foot run would be, and so stopped at a place near work, where nothing is cheap, and actually made an appointment for an hour later. That's right--I played hooky to get a foot rub. That I worked the whole way through the experience mostly took away the guilt, but not as much as you would hope. (And let's not even talk about the economics of what I earned versus what I spent for that hour...)

And, I am completely embarrassed to report, I now have purple toenails. Well, not purple, exactly, but a nice lilac, not too bright or too dark or too grape-y, as I was assured by the nice woman who did the pedicure.

Why purple?

Because I panicked--there were too many choices, and red seemed too bright, and I hate pink, and I never, ever know what color to pick, and the woman told me it was one of the new colors and really pretty. And of the four weird colors I picked to try, it was the nicest.

But mostly, I ended up with purple because I'm insane: wracked with guilt over my formerly easy-going and totally mellow toddler, who, having figured out that now I abandon her for large parts of every day, clings to me, bawling, whenever I drop her off, and wakes in the night crying; fat and clumsy and uncomfortable and tired of being kicked in the ribs and sick to goddamn death of having to pee every five minutes; stressed out about the insane amount of (low-stakes, but still) work I need to get done in the next five weeks (please, please don't come early, baby!) ...

It sounded like such a good idea. Purple--why not?

Maybe that's what Sarah Palin is thinking. Vice President--why not? Life's pretty crazy anyway.

But you know what? The purple isn't actually looking so fun, now that the foot rub is over...

'Scuse My Absence . . .

. . . I'm gestating. That's right: get ready for twice the fun!

And now, back to our regularly scheduled queasiness and wow-am-I-tired. . . .