schedules

Today is Tuesday, March 13th. It is 9:20 a.m., according to the clocks. I don't care what time it is, but Mom says she wants to fire Bush for signing a daylight savings time bill without checking with her energy levels to see if it was okay.

I don't know much about that, but I've been having to deal with other schedule stuff. See, I'm in here, doing my own thing, growing as I'm supposed to be growing, and nobody can keep anything straight about what time I'm supposed to come.

First, Mom figured that I would show up on July 4th. Then her midwives told her I'd show up on July 11th. So she got her calendar all goofed up, and when the noise invasion tech told her I was 21 weeks along a few weeks ago, she didn't think I could be that big!

So she went through her calendar yesterday and FINALLY figured out that I am ACTUALLY 23 weeks alive. Or something like that. This means that I weigh about one pound, I'm putting on the beginnings of my baby fat, and Dad could hear my heartbeat if he'd stop talking at me and listen.

But this gets better. Now that they have decided where I actually am (which *I* knew already, I'll have you know), I'm hearing things like "June baby" and "I'd better pop this kid in June," and "can't be late, because Pete has to take the Bar at the end of July."

I figure, they can't do anything. I'll come when I come, and they can just lump it. Give a kid a *little* control over their life!

*sigh*

I'll just have to teach them as necessary, huh?