Arg

Every day, in every way, I grow more spherical and enormous. Today I am beached on the couch like an exhausted walrus, except instead of sunning myself I am hiding behind translucent shades against an improbable 88 degree day in New York City. It's the first day of autumn.

My baby will be born this autumn. Probably in about a week and a half.

My blood pressure keeps veering wildly between the low side of normal and worrisomely high.

And I am exhausted. Some days I'm not. Today I am. The dog keeps staring at me with moist needy brown eyes, and I try to explain to him that I cannot walk him right now, I just can't, he went out already this morning and he will have to wait until L gets home and can do it, because I am exhausted and waddling and my blood pressure is through the roof and it's 88 degrees outside on the first day of autumn.

Dogs don't know about autumn. Or blood pressure. I don't blame him.

Even the veins in my forearms and hands are standing out.

Soon, Succotash. You are winning this war of attrition between our bodies, my old one and your brand new one. But we are past 35 weeks. You are in there, pretty much fully yourself, absent some extra layers of chub and fluff. I am happy to work on your chub from outside my body instead of inside.

We will see what they say at our appointment tomorrow.