Hello there ladies and gentlemen!

In his true narcissistic namesake's fashion, Dorian Shane, arrived one week before schedule on July 13th, 2010 at 4:58pm. He weighed 6lbs. 12 oz. and measured in at 17 inches.

Mommy and Baby are doing fine, as are big brother Dante and proud daddy Randy.

1 + 1 = WHAT?!?!?!?

I keep forgetting there is an end result to this pregnancy. Not that I don't understand that there is a baby inside me, but I tend to forget the part where it is actually going to be coming out of me at some point. For example, my mother and I were talking about what I wanted to do for hubby's birthday (August 27th, mark your calendars), and I said, "maybe you can watch Dante and we can go out to dinner". She replied, "Sure I can watch the baby and Dante for a couple of hours."

And that's when I realized that there is GOING TO BE A BABY at some point. Actually, within the next two weeks there is going to be a baby.

Totally slipped my mind. I completely forgot that Casa Lane will be inhabited by four people instead of three.

The same thing happened to me the other day when I was considering getting Yo Gabba Gabba Live! tickets since it is one of the best kid shows out there. Here I am, nonchalantly picking out tickets at Ticketmaster and thinking to myself how fun the three of us will have dancing to such awesome tunes as "There's A Party in My Tummy" and "Don't Bite Your Friends" and "I Like Bugs".


Then, it dawned on me. I'd have a baby. A three month old, to be exact, which a loud screaming theater of dancing life-sized puppets is no place for. Plus, there's no way I could leave Mr. Bean (who will have a name by then) for many hours at a time if I am going to be exclusively nursing!

So...no Yo Gabba Gabba for me. And secretly, I'm the one who really wants to go the most.

How can I be so forgetful when I am reminded every day when I try to put shoes on, or put pants on, or get kicked in the ribs, or break a sweat rolling over in bed that there is an end result to this pregnancy.

Let's go over the simple math here:



PLUS



WILL EVENTUALLY EQUAL




.....which will, in turn, become some scary teenager with hair in places I don't want to think about, an attitude to match, and some bimbo hanging off his arm. And trust me, they will ALL be bimbos.













So I need to keep reminding myself that come July 21st (assuming Mr. Bean does not want to come early), I will have A BABY.

Someone please shoot me.

Nevermind....

If you know me personally, or have been reading my blog, you know that I am that annoying pregnant woman who is constantly espousing the joys of pregnancy and how everything is wonderful and great when you're pregnant, even when you're barfing your brains out or feeling like Jabba the Hutt's cousin, or pulling groin muscles looking at an ant. Yes, that's me the "I Love Being Pregnant" girl who you want to punch in the face on a daily basis.

Well, I have news for you.

In the famous words of Emily Litella (ancient Saturday Night Live reference, that only a handful od people may get):



Yes, I said it. Or rather Gilda Radner said it for me above. "Nevermind".

Nevermind being all happy happy joy joy with this pregnancy right now because frankly, it's making me a nervous wreck. When I was pregnant with Dante, I had no clue what I was supposed to be doing, feeling, thinking, etc. and I had the luxury of being able to lie down, take a nap, rest, take it easy whenever I wanted. I had no idea what to expect other than the beauty of being big and fat and having a good reason to be.

This time around it's different. I am constantly aware of how much weight I am gaining, constantly trying to keep my cravings in check, constantly chasing after a 3.5 year old who, despite me thinking he has, is not really adjusting well to the idea of a "new baby". Between peeing his pants, to tantrums, to screaming, to turning into Godzilla from one second to the next, my praise for my so well adjusted kid may have been premature. On top of all of this, I have an absent husband (not because he's horrible but because he works and goes to school) who is gone from six in the morning until midnight Monday through Thursday, so my house looks like a shithole because I have been lax in my "housecleaning" duties because, well, I AM EXHAUSTED and honestly, because the LAST thing I want to be doing at almost-six-months pregnant is mopping the floors, dusting, and cleaning bathtubs.

The worst part of this pregnancy is me, though. I am seriously a nervous wreck. I was in the hospital last Saturday because I tore a groin muscle picking up my fast asleep 40 pound child (who feel asleep on top of my ass...seriously, I'm that soft). When I couldn't walk and was in pain, did I think I pulled a muscle? Did the first thought that entered my brain involve a strain or a muscle? No. You know what I, the genius, was thinking? I'm having a miscarriage! I swear, reason and logic go RIGHT OUT the window when you're pregnant.....and me.

But it gets better. What does my paranoid, overly nervous, worried, stressed, not-at-all relaxing ass do last night? I stuff my face with chocolate, sugar, Orange Juice, 3 glasses of cold water and lie on my left side for 3 hours because I haven't felt Mr. Bean move all day. Does the thought that he is sleeping cross my mind? Does the notion that he is extremely small still and I may not feel every movement come into play? Does the idea that I'm just overreacting grace the skies?

No. No. and No. I call my mom and go to the Emergency Room at 10 o'clock at night all the while thinking I have a dead baby inside me.

I swear. Where did this tough-I-can-handle-everything girl go? Where is she because she sure isn't here. Maybe she's somewhere hidden underneath these pregnant layers. I have no clue and no amount of "relax" or "stop stressing" seems to be helping.

Don't get me wrong, I still really love being pregnant, but I hope that someday in the future an invention will come along that will allow expectant (neurotic) mothers to have a little window into their uterus so they can check in everyday and make sure everything is going smoothly. It's all about control issues and in this case, I have no control, and I pretty much think that sucks.

On a side note: Mr. Bean began kicking and moving last night at the hospital the instant a monitor was put on him. I think I may have hear a "nyah nyah nyah you can't catch me" at some point. He has also proceeded to kick me throughout the evening and is presently kicking me so hard that I almost peed on my chair here.

Now can someone please punch me in the face and bring me back to my senses?