I guess it is what it is.

It's 12:38 am and I'm in Chad's recliner watching Jimmy Fallon (who is so sadly unfunny outside the structure of SNL) and waiting for 1:30 am to arrive so that I can pump for Anne and go to bed.

Yes, my wee sweet Anne is here. 15.5 weeks early. In the NICU they call her a "24 weeker." But they mean it in a nice way. In fact, I think the people in the NICU may be the nicest people on earth.

This is foreign territory to me. My two previous babies were robust, healthy, average size, right on time. My pregnancies were epicly - and blessedly - dull. And yet here I am with a tiny little preemie in the NICU, recovering from the c-section I didn't want and didn't have a choice about, and pumping breast milk every three hours because it's really the only thing I can do for my daughter right now. It's a very strange feeling to be driving home from the hospital, your body beaten by surgery, and the baby is not with you. She is in the best possible hands. But she still is not with me.

I'm not a worrier and I am prone to looking on the bright side. So far that's been pretty easy. Anne is tough. She is doing remarkably well. Every day we've been lucky to get good news about her progress. I know that probably won't always be so, but I'm not capable of thinking beyond tomorrow - the details of what time I have to pump, what time I can take the Percocet, who will take the girls to the beach for a couple hours so I can nap, and what time Chad will be home so that we can drive the 35 miles to the NICU and hold our sweet girl for the first time. It is what it is, but it seems like I'm living in a bizarro universe.

And just in case you're wondering - she was 1 pound, 8 ounces and 13 inches long. Her toes are the size of Nerds candy, her head the size of a tennis ball. She has a surprising amount of dark hair and toenails so small that you can hardly believe they actually exist. And she is beautiful.

I just wish I had been the only one.

I brought a circular saw as a gift to a wedding shower this weekend.

See, the bride and groom were registered at Bed, Bath & Beyond, but the closest one to where I live is nearly 40 minutes away. Had I been going that way anyway I would have happily stopped in, bought a mini food processor and been on my way. But I wasn't going that way. So I checked out their other registry, which was at Sears. And I decided on the circular saw.

Secretly I was delighted to break the ironclad femininity of wedding showers by bringing a large, noisy power tool as a gift. Showers are a wonderful tradition and I truly wish you could have one right around your 10th wedding anniversary. But I don't really like to go to them. Looking forward to being "the chick who brought the circular saw" was going to be my own personal entertainment, my little way of making the ritual and procedure of the shower more interesting.

My whole plan was working. Until someone else's gift turned out to be a miter box.

New clothes. Big whup.

When I was about 10 my best friend and I had this saying: big whup. Big whup applied to anything that was beneath our prepubescent sense of cool or was just plain unimpressive. I haven't used that phrase in a while, but it seems fitting today.

This was my second trip to the Motherhood Maternity outlet at my nearby outlet mall. I'm realistic enough to know that I'm not going to find any high fashion at an outlet and Motherhood Maternity is kind of the lower end of the spectrum of my personal taste as it is. But seeing as this is definitely my last child and I only have to suffer through maternity clothes for four more months I'm not going to splurge.

But I would like to look at least a little bit like myself.

Two of my friends were kind enough to lend me a lot of clothes, but it's mostly jeans and khakis. I am looking forward to an exceptionally cute pair of black corduroy jeans, but since it's only early August I've got a ways to go before I'm wearing those. There are a couple nice tops that are also waiting for the cooler weather, so I've supplemented with my outlet purchases - about three t-shirts and a couple of tank tops – as well as a couple of blousey non-maternity shirts that I'm pretending (for as long as possible) are just fine for someone who's five months pregnant. It's an acceptable wardrobe but not even close to my usual taste or style.

But back to the outlet. One bargain I found was a t-shirt that said "good things come in large bellies." An excellent choice if you feel the world has not already taken notice of your enormous abdomen and protruding belly button, but not so much for me. There was another shirt that had a large heart on it and the word "baby." Again, a good choice if you are visiting with someone who has never before seen a pregnant lady, but you couldn't pay me to wear that.

I've got a wedding shower this weekend and I wanted a cute dress, so I tried a purple cotton dress with a small ruffle on the neckline and an empire waist that was gathered. The color was great, but sadly, my oversized boobs looked like a big, lumpy sausage.

(Speaking of boobs - mine are so big that they make the bottom of my bra into a kind of shelf. The other day I was at my desk and found in there an earring that had fallen off my shelf at home while I was getting dressed. I hadn't even noticed it.)

I wound up with a black-and-white dress that will probably see a lot of use since it is officially the only business-appropriate maternity item I have at this moment, a fairly cute white linen shirt that I am pretending does not have puffed sleeves, yet another t-shirt, a cute flowered skirt that would look a whole lot cuter if I actually had a waist, a blue sundress that may also be acceptable for business if I put a cardigan over it and a tank top with flowers on it that I will probably only wear at home.

Big whup.

Yes, he really did say that.

The setting: my kitchen this morning - I'm getting breakfast for the girls and Chad is pouring coffee for himself.

Chad: You know honey, you're looking kind of big.

Me: I know, but could you just not mention it? I mean, I realize I'm pregnant and this is normal and everything... but, you know, even people who really should not make a comment at all feel like they can say something, so I'd really rather not have you say anything about it, okay?

Chad: I know honey, but I live with you and I was just wondering....

Me: What?

Chad: Well, if you have four more months to go.... are you going to need a cane to walk by the end?!