A coworker just asked me when I'm due. I told her and she said "Oh, I thought you had said May". I screamed "OH GOD, NO!". I think that pretty much sums up my feelings surrounding the third trimester.

I am attempting to follow the Brewer's Diet. That sounds like it would be fun, right? Like it might involve beer. Instead it was invented by some doctor named Brewer (anyhow, I am going to count my occasional O'Doul's as a serving of whole grains). Why am I doing this? Because I have gained too much weight. I blame white flour and sugar, of which I am a big fan. Most of the weight was packed on while I was in Florida (the conference provided "breakfast", which was nothing but muffins and danish and such). This isn't a diet in the sense of something that would cause me to loose weight, but instead a "smart plan for healthy eating". Ugh. There's already parts of it that I don't plan on every keeping. Like having two eggs a day. I can't digest eggs unless they are in something. So that's just not going to happen. There's also this totally bizarre requirement: "Two choices from: a whole potato, large green pepper, grapefruit, lemon, lime, papaya, or tomato" I hate baked potatoes, green peppers and tomatoes (at least all tomatoes I'm likely to see in Michigan in the winter). I don't think I've ever just ate a papaya straight up. So that leaves me with a lime, lemon or grapefruit. I can eat a grapefruit. As for the lime or lemon...?

I just realized that I don't think a single preggo picture has been taken of me (at least not one that I own. I went to a wedding a while back and I know I'm in some of those but I don't have any copies. Which is fine by me because I am wearing a purple psychedelic print maternity dress and I look like Barney on acid). I suppose that's something I should do. Maybe during Christmas. But not in a dress, because my knees now resemble over-inflated bread dough.

No developments in our "life plan". We will be moving...somewhere. It occurred to me, when I woke up this morning at 3*, that I should really start organizing and packing. I'm already at the point where I can *barely* reach down to unload the bottom shelf of the dishwasher. So what will packing at 9 months pregnant be like? Unless we win the lottery or something, or next domicile will be smaller. Possibly so small that it will not be able to accommodate all of my 5000 sq. feet of cooking equipment. So I should probably get packing.

Leo has been terribly injured in a life insurance medical screening. They sent someone out last Friday to draw his blood, someone he swears was actually a DOCTOR (not a medical tech). This, um, "doctor" drew his blood. Every day since, the yellow bruise with purple dots surrounding the site has grown. It is now about 9 inches long and 4 inches wide. And Leo says it hurts. It's not all bad, though, we've been enjoying the irony of Leo's possibly dying as a result of a life insurance screening.

* I woke up this morning at 3 because Owen, in celebration of the birth of his cousin, had choreographed a full stage show, complete with backup dancers (which I don't believe is physically possible, but that's what it felt like). I woke up right in the middle of his tap solo to "Happy Feet". There was also a lot of tipping the top hat and shimmying of his cane, which hurt. I don't know where he gets it, but the boy has rhythm.