I'm working from home today and trying not to think about it too much.
I ate leftover cake from my baby shower for breakfast.
Which was wonderful, by the way, and the cake was nicer than my wedding cake, and looked like this:
Unbelievable, right? Way too pretty to eat.
Somehow, I have managed.
(Come and get it, flour beetles! You miserable little shits.)
I have completely amazing friends. Friends who went out of their way to make me feel spoiled and pampered and stuffed to the gills with mind-blowing chocolate cake.
(It takes three people to plan a shower for someone like me, apparently.)
(Also, hello and welcome to the Supersized Amalah! Good lord.)
We picked a really, really bad weekend for the shower, as about 75% of the guest list couldn't attend for various important and not-made-up reasons, I swear. But it didn't matter at all, because everybody who was there -- and even people who couldn't be there but took the time to make sure there was a gift or card or a message on my phone (one person called just to sing me a little "I'm so sad I'm not at your shower" song that she wrote especially for the occasion) -- made me feel very loved and fussed over and totally pretended to be interested in seeing my ultrasound pictures for the hundredth million time and tell me how gorgeous my baby is going to be.
(Yes, I have all of his ultrasound photos in an album, right down to the original tadpole blob one. And yes, I will make you look at EVERY DAMN ONE. Repeatedly.)
And my mom was there. And Jason's mom. And man, does this little baby have the world's greatest grandmas.
(My mom's in red, Jason's mom's in pink. And I look very shiny and bedraggled because it was, no lie, over 210 degrees Fahrenheit this weekend in D.C. Am not exaggerating in the slightest. We all nearly died but were saved by the healing power of chocolate cake.)
Our dads stayed home with Jason and painted the nursery. Yes! It's painted. A lovely, boring shade of off-white that took us hours and hours to decide on. Jason's mom will be back soon to do all sorts of artistic painty things and the furniture we ordered has arrived and will be delivered shortly. So the room is still in shambles, but at least it's moved on to "shambles with a purpose and goal" versus "shambles with which to drive the poor pregnant girl crazy."
After, sort of, and yes, the ironing board is still in there:
So all good things. All very good things.
I just really hope my mom's surgery goes well. That would be the best thing of all.
I'm going to go eat more cake.