At least I knew the routine. Keep the water boiling on the stove for moisture, drink the steaming liquids, eat the chicken soup. When you feel as if your head is about to explode and that you'll begin breaking things against walls if you don't get some quality sleep right this minute, take a Sudafed and just deal with the guilt for the few minutes it takes to finally drift off into delirious dreams. Keep several boxes of tissues by the bed; keep the tube of Neosporin for your nose handy as well.

But I'm back to normal now, happily. Only two days off from work this time! I'm rather relieved that I know I'll be leaving the library when the baby comes, since many of the pregnant women with whom I've spoke on various forums are trying to save all their sick days to use with their maternity leave. If the illness isn't life-threatening, then they force themselves to their desks. Poor girls.

"Eric!" I shrieked. "Look at me! I'm gargantuan! I look like I'm ready to give birth any day now!"

Eric turned and stared. "Wow! You are...huge!"

"I wasn't this big a few days ago. What happened?"
"I have no idea."
"How the heck am I going to make it to June? How much bigger can I get?"

I worried myself into a fitful sleep. The next morning, after my shower, I looked at my stomach again. "Eric, come look at me." He walked into the bathroom; I gestured toward my swollen stomach. "I'm not as big as I was yesterday, am I?"

"No, you seem to have deflated."

My theory is that my child likes to push both feet against the wall and stretch out as much as possible. The need for space runs in the family; these mornings, when I arise in the wee hours to make my usual mad dash-waddle for the bathroom, I sigh with the knowledge that Eric will take advantage of my brief absence to fling himself to the center of the bed and steal all my pillows. Nothing I do can stop him; later, he won't recall doing any such thing. Now his child is following in his footsteps, even before drawing breath. I'm doomed.

Other than that, though, all is proceeding smoothly. Digestion is hitting a few snags as of late, but nothing I can't fight with glasses of milk and with Tums. (I can't believe I'm drinking milk again, after having weaned myself from it for almost three years. The first few sips were nauseating, but now I find myself craving it every evening.) I've had to give up my beloved orange juice, since I'm inevitably struck with the most horrendous heartburn only a few hours after drinking it. Sweets and grease are my archenemies; protein is my friend.

Oh, and I think my hormone levels have hit an all-time high. Last night, I actually cried for the alien babies on the X-Files. Eric was astounded, to say the least.

I want to go home and sleep. Failing that, I want to hide in my office.

Perhaps it's that I see the end approaching. What good will it do to invest myself heavily in preparations for the Summer Reading Program when I'm not even going to be around long enough to enjoy the results? I feel like I should be tying up loose ends, not embarking on new assignments. So what if I'm only just beginning my seventh month of pregnancy? I'm ready to start a new chapter of my life; the old one feels tired and constrained.

It's only Monday, but I feel like I've worked a while week already. How can I regain my motivation for the home stretch? Eric thinks it's pointless to even try, since it wouldn't be worth the library's while to even try to complain about me at this point. Still, I don't want to be miserable for the next few months. More so, I don't want the children to pick up on any of my boredom.

I think I need more sleep. Maybe I'm not as recovered from the sickness as I thought.