Well, maybe it's not completely over yet. Although most of our belongings are now over at the new place, we still have a bunch of small things at the old place, as well as more cleaning than I care to contemplate. Also, just about everything we own is still in boxes and strewn about the townhouse, waiting to be unpacked. Even so, just having most of the furniture in place makes me feel as though the end could almost, just about be in sight.

Incidentally, I can highly recommend the "Four Drunken Coworkers" moving company. Actually, they weren't all that drunk, no doubt due to the fact that I erroneously picked up a twelve-pack of beer instead of the requested case. My mistake. Anyway, the guys were extremely efficient, and almost everything was done by three in the afternoon on Saturday. They refused to let me carry much of anything, restricting me instead to "directing," which I did with pleasure. We had been slightly worried about whether or not all our possessions would fit into the new apartment, but everything worked out even better than we hoped. Even though we'll have to do a bit more "simplifying" over the next few days, we won't have nearly the constraints we had feared.

The night before we moved, Eric and I had a bit of a falling out just before bed. "You know, I commented as I was turning down the comforter, "this time if anything goes wrong with the apartment, it will have been your choice that led us there. You won't be able to say, 'Well, if you hadn't moved us here...'"

Eric stomped around the corner from the bathroom, where he had been brushing his teeth. "What do you mean? You were the one who wanted to take this place, just like the past two apartments we've had. They've all been your choices."

"Not this time, dear! I threw the whole ball into your lap. You were the one who found this place, you were the one who made the arrangements, and you were the one who decided we would take it."

Of course, he didn't remember it that way at all. To his recollection, he had made arrangements for us to see the place, and I had then fallen in love with it and had made the decision to sign the lease. As far as I could remember, he was the one who really wanted the place, so I had agreed with his decision. Two completely different memories, and neither of us were willing to back down. We turned off the lights, still fuming and arguing in the dark. Finally, after I calmed down a bit, I realized how silly the argument was; after all, we both liked the place. What we wanted was to be able to place any potential blame on the other person for any problems that might possibly eventually arise out of the move. Eric seemed to have come to the same conclusion. We were both able to drop off to sleep without a great deal of worry; by the next morning, we agreed that the fight was beside the point; we both liked the new place, so we could share the responsibility for having made the decision to take it.

As for the argument itself, though, I might blame my participation on hormones. Eric has no such excuse. So there, sweetheart!

My mind is disappearing, too. I had to purchase a new shower curtain yesterday. I brought it home and gave it to Eric for his shower. When he came downstairs afterwards, he said, "Honey, two things. First, we either need to raise the shower bar or hem the curtain. Second, it's not quite wide enough to reach both walls at once." Upon closer examination, I determined the reason for the ill fit: I had bought a stall shower curtain. Naturally, as it had been hung and used for a shower, it is completely unreturnable. Ah, well. Maybe someday we'll have a house with a shower stall.

This morning I accidentally fell back to sleep instead of getting up and unpacking a bit before going to work. Luckily I managed to wake up before I had to be at work; I definitely had to rush, but I wasn't too late. Perhaps I would have been less rushed if I hadn't first left the house without my purse, then without my work tote, and finally nearly without my car keys.

I am frustrating company for my poor, long-suffering husband these days, for sure. At least the end is nearly in sight. We are thirty weeks this week; in only six more weeks, we will be free and in the clear to have our homebirth. In less than two weeks, I'll have a baby shower here at work, and then I'll be able to take stock of what else we'll need before the baby arrives. We're in the home stretch!

If anybody mentions dancing hippos, though, I won't be responsible for my actions.