Current Events

As is customary these days, I got out of bed at 4am this morning and went directly to the mailbox.  I am waiting for a letter from The Guinness Book of World Records that confirms I have had the longest pregnancy on record.  According to my calculations, it’s been at least 87 months and 22 days with no end in sight.  And I am not the only one around here paying the price; my closet has been woefully neglected in favor of the small cubby where I keep my shrinking arsenal of clothing.  This is my own fault.  I simply could not wrap my mind around buying a whole new category of clothing that either A) makes me look like one big giant psychedelic curtain or B) costs more than an inevitable boob job.

My husband dutifully tries to console me, saying that nothing about me looks that different at all (at which point I swing sideways and show him the silhouette of my enormous belly, just for the sheer thrill of seeing his eyes pop out of his head).  I’ve noticed, though, that his attempts at comfort have been growing increasingly half-hearted.  The last month of pregnancy doesn’t provide much cover in the way of denial.

The stock market is also doing little for the morale of Bewildered Housewife’s household.  It’s been a solid two weeks of forehead-smacking news each morning, our mouths agape in disbelief.  I am considering a ban on financial news until further notice.  I’m thinking pancakes would be a suitable alternative.

But I will have to wait a few hours for those pancakes because, oh, that’s right, my husband still manages to enjoy that luxury I once knew as “sleep”.  If I were a lesser woman, I would go flush the toilet right now.  Lucky for him, I have more self-control than that.  For now.

In other news, my bloggery pals over at buttercuppunch hosted a live blog during last night’s presidential debate, and I must admit that it was brilliant fun.  Some of the blow-by-blow highlights include a truly cranky Tom Brokaw, my new favorite nickname for Sarah Palin (“Caribou Barbie”) and John McCain switching to Geico.  I’d suggest high-tailing it over there for the next and final debate.

The local latest has the baby flipped around again to an upright position.  If she doesn’t tuck and roll REAL SOON, little girl is going to be grounded as soon as she emerges.  Turn, baby, turn.

Ah.  5:30 am.  Time for peanut butter.