Well, since it appears that the world hasn't ended (yet), I guess I'm still pregnant.
In fact, according to my own (hopefully somewhat more accurate than the Mayan's) calculations, I'm 34 weeks pregnant as of today.
Holy hell am I tired. Like first trimester tired. I definitely do not remember this from my previous go-round at hosting a fetus. In this current state of exhaustion (and immune-compromised general physical ick) I am almost looking forward to giving birth. Almost. Though I still feel like I'm procrastinating on really doing much of anything to get organized for the impending arrival.
In starting to think about what I need to be ready, I find it interesting that I'm only now remembering all sorts of things that somehow I've repressed/forgotten since the last time I was responsible for a newborn. The little details like how many supplies you need for the sole purpose of dealing with leaky people. The diapers, burp cloths, monster maxi pads, breast pads, mattress covers, wipes, etc. Apparently the human brain is very good at ensuring the survival of the species by only retaining the memories of sweet, warm, newborn milk-breath and not the memories of waking up each morning for weeks in sweat-milk-pee-blood-spit drenched pajamas. Oh, and of course the joys of breaking-in the poor old nipples.
It's almost enough to make me slightly less eager to have this pregnancy over and done with already.
Well, at least until I get distracted by the thought of getting to see some of those adorable 6-month-thigh-rolls again... Mmm, baby chub...