A little fun for your Friday.

This tune makes me happy. Enjoy!

Sticky notes.

When I was a freshman in college, right before I got married, I lived on campus with this cute gal named Karissa. We had some fun times living in Heritage Halls. But I think for Karissa, the most memorable thing about being my roommate was my sleep-talking.

Yes, I talk in my sleep. Usually, it happens when I'm really stressed out or anxious. It's not fun for me at all because I wake up the next day feeling like I've been hit by a train. But my roommates sure get a kick out of it.

Lucky Dill, he gets to hear my incoherent drivel for the rest of his life!

Well, Karissa got this idea to write my most colorful sleep-talk phrases on Post-It notes and stick them to my mirror so I'd be able to read what I'd uttered the night before. Oh boy, there were some good ones. Like, when I was angry at a guy who'd dissed Karissa. I sat straight up in my bed and said, "I'll kill him. I'll KILL HIM!" And then, there was that other time when I tried to give Karissa an economics lesson.

Man, I wish I still had those sticky notes.

Anyway, I follow this hilarious blog where the author does these cute posts with Post-It notes, inspired by this other fabulous blogger. Check 'em both out! If you think I'm funny, you'll probably die of suffocation when you read these ladies' blogs. You'll be laughing so hard, you won't be able to breathe, and then you might die.

Anyway, here's my Post-It Note Tuesday post.

Now, go HERE and make your own! Don't forget to give some linky love to Supah and Glamazon.

Thirty-five.

That's how many weeks along I am as of today. And boy, am I feeling it or what?

Got a new haircut this weekend. Feelin' good about that.

More than anything, I just want to be done. Done, done, done. I feel like a pan of brownies in the oven (yum) that look done by all appearances, but are still a little mushy in the middle. You can tell because if you insert a toothpick into my belly, it doesn't come out clean. Har, har.

Brownies. Mmm. Did I mention I made some homemade brownies last week and they were deeeelicious? Corn syrup is the secret to chewy goodness. And lots of vegetable oil.

I also made two dozen oatmeal raisin cookies yesterday afternoon and they were so good, I ate six this morning.

I sure hope the scale forgives me.

Anyway, I'm at that awkward pregnancy stage when nothing fits, I'm feeling pretty miserable and I look like I'm about to pop, yet I still have FIVE WEEKS left. So I'm nowhere close to actually being done. But everyone thinks I should be. And I think I should be.

I'm pretty sure God designed it this way. That by the end, we'd be so sick of pregnancy we wouldn't be afraid to push the baby out. It's genius, really.

Speaking of which, Bubby has recently started saying, "You're geenus!" Not sure where she picked that up. Probably from Dill, who says it to me on a regular basis. ;)

And that's what's going on with me. I do have a baby shower coming up this weekend, hosted by my lovely sister-in-law, and I'm sure it'll buoy me up a little. Nothing like gifts, good company and food. Ohhhhh yeeeeeah.

Another thing: I need to come up with a nickname for my baby. Obviously, Bubby is not my daughter's real name. But I'm thinking I'll follow suit with the next kid and call him something funny to preserve his identity. I'm leaning toward Smush. Thoughts?

Time to make a paper chain?

Look over there at the right side of my blog. That's my face. Down below that are my followers. (Bless you). Under that, you will see a floating baby with a number on it. That little thingy is my Baby Countdown and we've officially hit 40 days today.

Holy. Crap.

Let's just say I've done NOTHING to prepare for this poor little guy and I am starting to feel a little panicked about it.

I remember vividly when I was nearing the end of my pregnancy with Bubby. I was so diligent about having everything ready for her big arrival. All the teeny-tiny clothes were washed in Dreft and sorted into the appropriate sizes. The nursery was decorated, the house was always immaculate, my hospital bag was packed ... I even ironed the dust ruffle for the crib. IRONED THE FREAKING DUST RUFFLE. Oh, my former self cracks me up sometimes.

But yeah, I'm sure every mom can relate. The first one changes your whole life. Turns it upside down and shakes it. You go from being this cute little wife without a care in the world to a MOTHER. The primary caregiver to a helpless, mewing thing who eats (and in turn, poops) a lot. And when you're at the end of the pregnancy, your body never stops reminding you that this little baby is coming soon, so you'd better kick it into high gear, sister.

(Oh, kind of like how right now my BOOBS ARE LEAKING. I'm sure you all wanted to know that.)

But this is the second kid. Old hat. I can totally wing it ... right?

Um, wrong. I just hope everything falls into place in the next 40 days. Maybe less. (Hopefully less.) I can't wait to see who this peanut looks like.

Why yes, I am still growing a humanoid in my uterus.

In case you forgot.

I'm 33 weeks along today. Crotch pain is still going strong, but it's not constant like it was when I was pregnant with Bubby so that's nice. I still haven't got any new stretch marks (knock on wood). I feel decent with the exception of sciatica and the crotch pain. Oh, and the heartburn -- but I can control that with Tums Smoothies. And now that I've moved into my new house (picture taken in my master suite!) I can start preparing for this little guy to get here.

Seven more weeks! Or less!

(Please bless!)

P.S. Do you like my carpet? And paint? I sure hope so because it cost more than a semester's worth of tuition at BYU. Just sayin'.

I'm alive.

We closed on our house on January 20.

We moved out of our apartment on January 21.

We moved in with the in-laws.

For two weeks, we re-painted, re-floored, re-carpeted and cleaned the house like crazy.

Today, we moved out of the in-laws' house and into our own beautiful home. And here I am, blogging from the comfort of MY house! A house I actually own.

Sigh.

Pictures to come, once I recover from all the hullabaloo.