In other news, I just accomplished something from my pre-Speck list of hopeful feats: Knitting! Yay! Sort of...I needed a bit over an hour to do this, complete with mistakes and having no idea how to finish it off:
I am rather irrationally proud of my half-coaster/half-Barbie-blanket, as my co-worker alternately termed it (being unsure of its most functional function); she was content with her "knitting needle cozy" of 20-odd cast-on stitches. (Listen to me: Am old pro at something crafty!) Boys and girls, support your local libraries: they offer fun and/or educational programs such as knitting classes, in addition to a wide variety of books and audiovisual materials, among other stuff.
In other news, all is just about ready for Speck's arrival, including the nursery, notwithstanding lack of curtains, leaning of stroller on crib, storage of bathtub in crib, and omnipresence of fat cat in glider:
In other other news, could this be the last photo of me pregnant with the Speck? Or at least one of the most unflattering? Perhaps.
Indeed, I am "all baby," as I've heard a bit too often in the past few weeks, most recently from the OB's assistant this morning, who "just can't get over it. You're all baby!"
Two weeks ago or so, as we were entering Babies 'R' Us for the 437th time this month, I told Rob that he could divorce me if ever I wandered around like one pregnant chick we saw: she had about five inches of bare belly peeking from between top and bottoms--and this on a 20ish-degree day while she wore a coat. And here I am, posting something similar on the Internet. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.