Only one week to go. Only one more week to go. Please let there be only one more week to go…

As you may have surmised, I’m down to the last week before my due date. Kiddo seems perfectly content to hang around and overstay his welcome in my very-very-very massive and presumably oh-so-comfy belly though, so this may well drag on for a few more weeks. Happy happy, joy joy! I’m so glad to almost be at the end of this road. I’m totally exhausted, my knees are starting to give out, the backache and belly aches are constant, I can’t sleep for more than an hour at a time, my eating habits and digestive system are permanently tweaked, I can’t breathe, and I’m therefore – understandably, I think – rather grumpy. To say it politely. (The less polite variation is “hormonal psychotic bitch,” I believe.)

Most of these annoying complaints are just part of the deal, however, and I have pretty much gotten used to being physically miserable for the past nine months. But just when I thought, “Hey, this is almost over and surely there can’t be any MORE nasty surprises in store for me!” (labor and delivery aside, of course), along comes one more insanely irritating side effect of bringing a bright, brand-new little babykins into the world.

My feet. Oh, my poor scary, swollen feet. They are bright red, almost purple, and they have only recently puffed up into chubbalicious snausages with little fat toes squishing out of them. They are hideous. The skin is stretched, blotchy, and dry. They tend to swell out of whatever shoes and socks I wear, puffing out of ballet flats, Mary Janes, and athletic shoes like huge, angry red muffin-tops which slosh into my cankles and blend directly into my fat calves and chubby knees. I can’t fit into my cute shoes and have had to resort to buying a pair of plain, practical, stretchy, flat shoes that belong in the nursing ward, not my collection of sexy heels. And the disgust I feel for my own two feet is only slightly less than the embarrassment I feel when total strangers steal a glance at my overstuffed sausage legs and nervously glance away, as if they worry that I may be contagious.

Good thing I only have one more week to go. One week. One week. One week…