Gestational logorrhea: 30 weeks

This cabbage-sized creature seems to be everywhere at once, spanning from my ribcage to my lower abdomen. It's alarming. Just how big is this kid going to be? I spawned a giant last time, so what can we expect this time, a leviathan? My girly bits quiver with fear.

Non-gestational life is occupied with finding physical and occupational therapists for Jonah, navigating preschool birthday party politics (more intricate even than Italian politics, trust me), and creating a library catalog for Jonah's school. This last thing began with a three-hour session last night, along with another volunteer, the mom of the "other" Jonah in Jonah's class, who turns out to be super nice and good for a chat (I guess that's why it took us 3 hours to get 100 books in the catalog!).

Jonah has been pretty tricky to handle lately - a hair-trigger on his tantrum gun. I often lose patience with him. I have no idea how things will go once the baby is on the outside and a convenient target for his thrown toys and yelling. I have to believe he'd never do that, but the reality is he may. And I'll have to rise to the occasion with a lot more understanding than I have been able to muster lately, because what other option is there? Make my firstborn suddenly feel unloved?

I keep meaning to start composing a letter to Jonah about the impending arrival, one he won't necessarily understand now, but for posterity. However, thinking about what it might say just makes me cry before I've written a word. "Dear Jonah." It's like I'm breaking up with my kid. I should channel this impulse into something I've read other moms do - make a photo album of his first few years, so he can show it to visitors after the new baby comes, and hopefully not feel like he's been swept under the rug.

Yes, I'll get right on that, after I plan organizational systems for several large closets and select the type of recessed lighting we "need" to get installed before February...