I want to write a post about the results of the ultrasound, the discovery of the baby’s sex in particular, and how it’s stirred up all of these complicated feelings for me and left me a big, weepy puddle of tears in inappropriate situations ever since, but HOLY SHIT, Y’ALL. We’re leaving for Paris this weekend, and I am so overwhelmed I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t know what to do while we’re there, don’t know what to pack, apart from the $120 shoes I just put on my credit card (NAUGHTY). All I know is that I want to buy a big box of macarons while in Paris to share with my girlfriends when we return, go see Versailles, and not spend our whole trip there trying to figure out what to do, going to all the wrong places, and totally missing out on the Paris Experience.
Also, I’m worried that I’m going to look like a big fat Ugly American in all the wrong clothes, speaking halting French with a horrible accent. I want to go to the fancy lingerie place, but I know that the “quintessential Parisian woman” who runs the joint will take one look at my pregnant 42DDDs and swollen belly and command me to leave her sight. The lines at the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower will be too long and who wants to do all of that touristy bullcrap anyway?
And let’s not even DISCUSS how desperately worried about Harry I’ll be and how much I’ll miss him and how I can guaran-damn-tee that I’m going to melt into tears the minute we pull away from my aunt’s house on Sunday morning, paralyzed with grief at leaving my sweet boy behind, even though I know he’ll probably be setting Guitar Hero records on his cousins’ Wii mere moments after we’re gone.
Ach, my heart. Who knew vacations could be so stressful?