Snippet of real dialogue from the fish tank:

Me: I can't believe I have 8 weeks left. It's so long!
Craig: Are you crazy? We only have 8 weeks left.

Needless to say, I'm ready. Maybe not externally (Craig is finishing the nursery painting tonight, and I still haven't packed my bag), but physically. Though little bird should be gaining half a pound a week from here on out, I look at my belly and cry when I think of it getting stretched any further. I can't reach my cabinets any more because there's no elasticity left for me to stretch. The center of my belly feels bruised. My lower back aches. I can't tie my shoes.

Also, any fear I once had regarding the labor process has gone and now the only fear is that I may be overly optimistic about the whole thing. Part of it could be that my hippie birth coach uses words like "orgasmic" to describe the birthing process. Part of it could be that as other women in the birth class run into complications (early labor, diminishing amniotic fluid, emergency C-sections) I'm realizing the odds of me having an "ideal" labor experience are going up; after all that same hippie birth coach told us that of the 9 women in our class, only 1-2 of us will have unplanned C-sections and those spots have already been claimed. Reading stories from women like this new mom who didn't even know she was in labor until she was fully dilated and ready to push doesn't help with the whole "earth to Stacy" reality check that I'm needing.

Then again, maybe I don't need it. Maybe optimism is the one good thing going for me right about now. Now if I could just get Craig's attention to come tie my shoes and get the popcorn bowl down...