done and done.

I am so done.  This would come as no surprise to anyone who has seen my Fred Flintstone feet in the last few days.  My excitement over flip-flop weather was quickly extinguished by the struggle I had actually fitting my swollen sausage-like feet into my flip-flops.  Disappointment is a gross understatement.  I cried real tears.  I will admit, though, that it is a slight improvement over actually bending over to stuff my almost-as-swollen feet (several weeks ago) into my winter boots.  At least I haven't gotten out of breath wriggling my puffy dogs under the flip-flop straps.  And for my friends who have suggested crocs:  I have two pair and they have been just as difficult to squeeze into.

In addition to that particular brand of fun, I've been having a blast with indigestion.  (Here is where the faint-of-stomach may wish to skip to the next paragraph.)  Gone are the halcyon days of mild nausea and few discreet burps.  Tonight I am desperately hoping I will vomit just to relieve the gross discomfort of continually burping up chunks of dinner.  I can only assume my newly limited stomach capacity has made it more difficult to fully digest what I eat in a timely manner.  That and the never-ending Zumba class (still) below, continuing to toss the salad I ate for dinner, hours after I ate it.

And speaking again of baby movement; what in the world is this kid trying to accomplish in there?  I still cannot fathom why a tiny infant would need to move THAT much.  It is more and more uncomfortable every day and almost disturbing how active this child is.  I am thinking of investing in one of those baby straight-jackets I saw the other day--euphemistically called a swaddler.  Genius!  If I only I could make use of it now.....