Happy 2007: YOB

So now the insomnia happens when I wake up lying on my back, and the baby's weight is pressing on my diaphragm and I feel like something's crushing my chest and I can't get a good deep breath.

Nice, huh?

No doubt this pregnancy is moving along in one way or another. Twenty-four weeks pregnant today, and the belly's definitely prominent. On one hand, we went to a new year's brunch yesterday where we didn't know anyone except the hosts. Kids and infants galore. One woman told me I didn't look like I was showing much at all, and everyone wished us good luck. (I did tell Mr. L. that if I was still having trouble getting pregnant, this party would have really depressed me, with all the little children about. Instead, I was able to just relax and take it all in. Well, take most of it in--the delicious-looking lox and tuna salad are on hiatus until post-pregnancy.)

Of course, the night before I hung out with my parents, brother and sister in law for a New Year's Eve meal. My brother, who is three years younger than me but a foot taller, and I often exchange smartass comments. "Damn, look at that belly," he said. "Dude, I'm six months pregnant," I retorted. "It's supposed to be there." "Yeah, but are you having twins?"

My brother has a cute young son who is nearly two, and is a general handful. He's mischievious, and likes things his own way. The son flipped out on Friday when he was out to lunch with his parents. My sister in law ripped a big piece of pizza crust in half for the little boy to better fit it into his mouth. The son watched this happen and got royally pissed off. He then squealed and yelled and tried his hardest to put the two pieces of pizza crust back together. I figure my brother has enough headaches with his own headstrong kid. I'm not going to let my brother's twin comment, smartassed and misguided as it is, bother me.

Because none of us are night owls, we all went out for an early dinner New Year's Eve, then went back to my parents' house for dessert, and Mr. L. and I were home by about 10ish and tucked in bed to watch the ball drop at midnight.

"Happy New Year," we wished each other, kissing and turning off the TV.

"This is YOB," the Mister said. "1993 was my YOG, year of graduation, and 2007 is YOB, year of baby."

We both got teary.

"Knock wood, all goes well," I said,

Happy 2007, YOB.

Update; Just found out my year-end post is now featured on this week's Grand Rounds, along with a few other d-bloggers. Thanks!