Rambling...

I'm bored out of my skull, so I'm going to ramble at you people for a while. Don't even know how many of "you" there are, but hey.

So I had my first ultrasound last Thursday. I was pretty afraid I was having twins, because in just under thirteen weeks of pregnancy, I'd gained 5 inches in my waist while losing 11 pounds. Everything else had shrunk by about a half inch, but my stomach just kept getting bigger! But the ultrasound tech swore to me and I made her promise! that there was, in fact, only one of them in there. She said my abdominal wall seemed pretty lax, so I might get kinda big. Joy. Thanks, lady.

Apparently, my body decided to give me a big ol' middle finger. It's basically said, "Screw you, and the horse you rode in on. I've held in two kids within the last 5 years, lady. You're lucky I haven't risen up in revolt by now." And I gotta admit, 3 pregnancies in 5 or so years is a bitch. I gotta give this point to the muscles. Go lax, my friends. Have a party. Just be sure to save me a daiquiri, okay? Seriously, I'm going to pick a day, sometime after I've healed up and feel human again, and go drinking. I'll pump for like a week before, hand Andrew a bottle and point out the boob juice in the fridge. Bye, babe, I'm gonna go get my drink on! I should push him to go out with his brothers/friends/guardian leprechauns for a day, too. He deserves it.

My next ultrasound isn't until 20-22 weeks into my pregnancy. That's like... er... late October at the earliest. I'm supposed to wait that long to know whether I finally get my boy or not. I can't buy most baby clothes because "gender neutral" is a bitch to find. It's frustrating. Some progress, however: we've chosen which car seat to buy -- the Graco My Ride 65, baby! -- and we got a swing, too. It converts into an infant seat and a toddler rocker. Tell me that isn't kick ass. Go ahead, try. We already have a play yard and a couple strollers.

I think the only thing we lack is a crib. The play yard has a bassinet for the first 15 lbs or so, so we can figure out if the baby will tolerate sleeping alone. My first two didn't. Co-sleeping may be convenient, but breaking them of the habit is a bitch. Two-edged sword... I pray he/she will sleep alone without the three hour crying jags of my first two. Then we can figure out how to pay for a crib. Freakin expensive crap. What happened to the good ol' days when families passed down crap like that? When cribs and such were actually built strong enough to last through multiple generations.

Not to mention, my house is full of useless crap. Now, you ask, why do I keep useless crap? The answer: I don't. Andrew does. He is a pack rat. I'm considering signing him up for a 12-step program for Pack Rats Anonymous. Seriously. He has stuff from his college days. It's crazy. At least most of it is in boxes, and boxes stack. But that just means I have mounds o' boxes... everywhere. It literally looks like we just moved in. But I think I prefer this to crap piled everywhere, spilling over on itself like an avalanche. I've seen houses like that. *shudders* Shoot me if I ever let it get that bad.

Now, I've made Andrew go through some of the boxes -- mostly because I started to, only to uncover stuff of his that I have no idea what it is, and it's either he gets to it or the kids do *evil cackle* -- but a lot of it is just papers and books that we have nowhere to put. Bookcases get demolished in our house. We have toddlers. I'm told this is normal. I got sick of putting everything back five times a day, so now I've stopped insisting on pulling things out of boxes. They're safer in the cardboard prisons. Dressers suffer the same fate as bookshelves... Clothes go in, clothes come out -- repeatedly. In one day. In one hour. In 5 golddern minutes. So clothes stay in their baskets. There are clean baskets and dirty baskets, and that is the only system that exists in my home.

I'm going insane. To be fair, I'm already insane. I'm going to start drooling and smacking the wall with my head soon. As soon as I no longer feel like microwaved death, I'm going to go through what things I can and throw away every blessed thing I can get away with. Anything I can't, I'm throwing on Andrew's side of the bed and he can do with it what he pleases. Including putting it back in boxes and stacking them in corners. But I guarantee you I can condense the shit. Just cutting the stacks in half would save what's left of my sanity. I know, funny, right?

Anyone else have a pack rat hubby/boy toy/roommate?