Too much of a good thing

Eight days is a really long time to be at Disney World. It's an especially long time if you are finally willing to agree that your family is just too large to share one hotel room, you are 5 weeks from delivering your 4th child, your ankles and legs swell but never have in past pregnancies, you get harangued into wasting a day at a time-share presentation and/or you would really just rather be at home on your sofa or doing any of the one million things you think of that need doing before January 7 while lying in bed at night.

(that may be the longest sentence I have ever written)

Um, so the kids had a great time, but we won't be going back for at least five years. It may take us that long just to pay the bills we accumulated just for food. Five dollars for a hot dog people. A hot dog that you have to eat standing up because there is nowhere to sit at a hot dog cart. Anyway, it was fun. Honest. I think.

I realized something though. Pregnancy at thirty-five is way different than it was at twenty-seven. And not in the good way. It's harder. I hurt more. This kid is hanging so low I think she may have broken or bruised my tailbone. I need to sit, but it hurts to sit. I need to take a nap, but lying down too long makes my hips camp up. Walking too much makes my legs swell. I feel broken. I feel old. And, I feel like I am so very screwed when this baby comes.

I am scared to death. How am I going to manage all this? Seriously. My husband works ungodly hours. I spend 80% of my time alone with my kids. he rarely makes it home in time to put them to bed, never for dinner and he probably spends 40% of his workdays out of town. I am screwed. And not in the good way.

See a pattern here?

I am scared people.

Here, have a picture...