Come OUT Second Baby I can hardly stand to be around myself with all of this nesting going on

So here we are- Military Ball Day. I was hoping to avoid this day altogether by spontaneously going into labor and having the Easiest, Fastest Birth Ever, but Second Baby clearly has other plans. S/he is all, "You haven't dusted yet. You need to put SOMETHING besides wine and your toothbrush into that hospital bag. Maybe you should register at the hospital? Maybe? I think you need to make one last trip to the commissary. You are running low on marshmallows, which means that you can only make one more batch of fudge, and I'm not coming out that quick, (HAHAHAHA) so get a move on, woman."

CHILD. You aren't even HERE yet and you're already testing me. Didn't you get my memo? Fast, easy birth that just so happens to coincide with the military ball since we have reliable babysitter access? I have plans. And lists. And more lists. And I need you to follow along because we all know that *I* am in charge here. Oh wait a second. I'm not in charge? Ok, you and Jesus call the shots and I will just drop everything and play along whenever y'all are ready. I'm assuming y'all have developed some sort of sick sense of humor in that I'll go into labor in the middle of the night, with a sink full of dishes and a huge stinky diaper load to wash the next day. BUT OK I CAN DEAL. I was just sorta kinda hoping that we wouldn't have to go to this military ball and yawn away a Friday night while we listen to higher-ups jabber on about how *awesome* this battalion is and hooah hooah hooah.

For the record, the nesting is starting to get a little uncontrollable at this point. Before 9am this morning, I had dusted everything, done dishes, laundry, diapers, vacuumed the floors, read more Hypnobabies, sorted the recycling, took out the trash, made another batch of fudge, and changed two diapers. Yesterday I did this:

Can you see what that is? Here's a closer shot:

Yeah, my dishwasher is a storage unit. Laugh it up.

I felt the overwhelming NEED to label everything in case Steve isn't here to help someone locate something they might need. Our friend who has agreed to watch Sam while I'm in the hospital has been to my house plenty of times, and I'm sure she could find everything she needs (she is equipped with two arms, legs, and eyeballs), but why not make it a little easier on her? Also- I AM IN CRAZY NESTING MODE AND WE NEED MORE POST-ITS STAT.

Since Sam has funky little mealtime tendencies and a few food allergies, I thought it best to create a chart detailing what mealtimes look like for him.

Ok that's a little blurry, but even I can plainly see that a crazy person wrote that.

And this last picture is a true testament to the fact that I'm READY. You can see the top of my microwave. (!!!) It is usually covered in ridiculous amounts of mail, articles that I've been meaning to send to my mom, receipts I'm scared to throw away, stray toddler toys that I might attempt to fix, and tax info.

Steve is (supposedly) getting off work early today and I plan to use that free time to register myself at the hospital (I hope they don't laugh at me too much or try to admit me right then due to my size and waddle) and then go to my fancypants hair appointment. Y'all, I had to go in there last week for a hair CONSULTATION. That is how serious this hair place is. I've obviously been frequenting Great Clips too much because this has been the main source of excitement for me this week (besides that visit to Chick-fil-a, which always ranks high on my List Of Things To Get Excited About).

AAAAAANNNNNNDDDDD my best friend from high school is coming up to not only babysit Sam while we are out tonight, but to hang out with me tomorrow! If only wine was going to be involved, this weekend would look like The Most Perfect Storm Ever, but I think instead, it will just be A Really Great Weekend and I'm excited.

Obviously I will take pictures of Steve and myself all dolled up for the ball and report back to you with whale pictures soon. In the meantime, please either pray for this extreme nesting urge to back the hell off or for Second Baby to grace us with his/her presence sooner than later.