I understand that everyone has to go through this, but good lord these days are crawling by. I don't get it. My head is positioned really low. Most of the cheesy substance is falling off my skin. I figured they call it full term for a reason. I'm ready. My mom is ready. She packed her hospital bag. She made my dad install the car seat base. He might have done it wrong, but that's not the point of this blog posting. The point is that I don't want a Christmas birthday. I don't want people to just lump me together with baby Jesus and give me a double gift for Christmas. Double gifts are the worst. I want my own day with my own cake and I don't want to have to blow out candles on a pumpkin pie. I don't want my birth announcement to be red and green.
But wouldn't it just figure that mom and dad already put up the Christmas tree. They've already been listening to the "Sounds of the Season" music channel on TV. If I hear The Carpenters' "Home for the Holidays" one more time, I don't know what I'm going to do. And it's not even December.
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