Some problems I'm having.

I don't want anyone ever to say that I don't keep it real on my blog. That's right: one of my priorities in life is, in fact, blog-reality. Very key. So rather than putting on my rose-colored glasses, I'm going to tell my life like it is (with Paul yelling "So dumb!" in the background as he completes online Scout training on such pertinent topics as how hail is formed and what dark urine indicates). My point is this: I'm having some problems.

• I can't find anybody to finish my bathroom/laundry room area. I know. I should finish it myself. But (my two standby cop-outs): I'm pregnant and my degrees are in English. What do I know about plumbing and wiring? Surely I could learn, but just as surely I could pay someone to do those things for me, and then we would be safer.
• I'm allergic to the great outdoors. Every once in a while--like today--I look outside at our voracious weeds and think, "I hate weeds! I've had it! I'm pulling them out!" And I spend several quarter hours battling snails and spiders and noxious weeds, with wonderful results. (Gardening, I think, is good for my soul.) And then, as I stand back and look at my naked dirt with satisfaction, I start to sneeze. And all my facial orifices begin to drip (yes, drooling is a common but often ignored side-effect of hay fever*). And it feels like my whole face swells up. And my eyes turn pink and something at the very center of my head in between my ears and at the back of my throat itches so bad I can hardly speak. So, ultimate result: misery (gardening is bad for my body).
• This, I think, is my biggest problem. I don't know what we're going to name the baby. I realize that we have time, but I passed the middle-mark this past week, and now I'm feeling a little concerned about how quickly this pregnancy is progressing. Have I painted the room yet? Have I chosen curtain fabric so that I can choose a paint color? Have I purchased any baby clothing or made a decision about cloth v. disposable diapers or birthing methods? No, no, no, no, and no. You'd think I could at least come up with a name. Or turn the quilt-top into an actual quilt. Or get a good night's sleep. Sheesh.
  

*I made that up in an effort to conjure more sympathy. I don't really drool, though. My brother does. (And that *is* true.)