I am my own grandpa

Well, it's official: I am starting to walk funny. I've just noticed it in the past few days. I wouldn't call it a waddle, exactly. It's just a slow, slightly stilted gait. I feel like I'm being pulled forward by my belly, and the rest of my body is a few paces behind. Actually, I think I 'm walking rather like my late grandfather -- a sweet, rotund man with hypertension who played Santa Claus at church functions when I was a kid. I usually walk REALLY fast (friends always tell me to slow the hell down) so it's funny to have it take so long to get places.

And speaking of it taking a long time to get places: I'm starting to get impatient. I really want to meet these babies. It's not that I'm fed up with being pregnant (though a glass of chardonnay and a good night's sleep on my stomach or back would certainly be nice), and Lord knows I could use the time to power forward on this novel draft and do other things that I won't be able to do easily after they're born. But I'm growing a bit tired of being in limbo, not knowing what to expect. The more I feel these little monkeys moving around, the more eager I am to see what they look like and hold them and feed them and kiss their little cheeks. Then, patience has never been one of my virtues.

10-12 more weeks, if all goes well. Time waddles on.