Maybe I'm not pregnant?

Hmmm, let's see, the last time I checked I was at least 28 weeks pregnant. This translate into me being 7 months pregnant. 7 MONTHS.

Negative 2 1/2 months in counting before little Bam Bam arrives. I don't think my husband knows this or understands because:

1) Wednesday at 7am I wake up to prepare an entire Thanksgiving dinner. Followed by at 8pm beginning to bake dessert for the next day's activities. I fall asleep at 12am.

2) Thanksgiving Day I wake up at 7am to cook breakfast for my family before heading out to San Diego (normally a 1 1/2 hour drive) which took 4.

Thanksgiving night, at around 11pm, we drive back to LA and get to bed after 1am.

3) Friday morning I wake up at 8:30am to get dressed to drive out Temecula to visit Grandpa Jones' house, a 1+ hour drive.

We leave Temecula at 6p to head to Santa Monica to hook up with Teddy KGB before he goes to Vegas. Of course by 8P he's not available, so we head to Woodland Hills to hang out with some other friends who will be moving to San Diego to start grad school next semester.

By 10:30p we're leaving Woodland Hills to go back to Santa Monica (Hooters) to finally hang out with KGB. We get home after 1am.

4) Saturday morning we get up at 8am to drive to Long Beach, to pick up a friend and then head to Hollywood to have breakfast at The Griddle Cafe.

From Hollywood we head back to Torrance so that we can wash the dog, clean up the house a bit before heading over to Redondo Beach to have an early dinner with my mom (and watch The Jerk).

At 6:30p we leave the South Bay to head to Beverly Hills to have another lite dinner with friends in LA from out of town at The Stinking Rose at 7p. According to Chris Rock married people tend to close down restaurants, which is exactly what we did. So at 10:30p we leave BH to go home... maybe I'm not pregnant because DAMN I feel like I'm training for a marathon.