Well, at least that's done now.

A Comparison

When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my first child:
I got an email from BabyCenter each week, which told me exactly how big the baby was and which milestones it had reached. Matt and I read and imagined with wonder.

Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
I'm aware that the baby has all his limbs, because he's using them to beat me up from the inside, and I know that he's somewhere between the size of an apple and a basketball.

When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my first child:
We had a first and middle name selected, and a fair amount of baby items with the name already embroidered on them.

Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
We have a list of 14 names that is growing, not narrowing.

When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my first child:
The nursery was almost complete, with cute stuffed animals in the chair and the crib bedding washed and on display.

Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
We are 98% sure the crib is in the attic, and 90% sure it will get brought down before the baby arrives.

When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my first child:
I eagerly anticipated doctor's appointments, writing each one on my calendar as soon as they were made.

Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
I try to remember to call Matt after the appointments to let him know that there is indeed still a baby in there. I also try to remember all the appointments.

When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my first child:
I had a catalog of photos of myself at various stages of pregnancy.

Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
Not a single photo yet. Oops.

When I was 30 weeks pregnant with my first child:
I was eating everything in sight and sleeping every minute that I could.

Now, 30 weeks pregnant with my third child:
Well, some things never change.

Baby Girl

Maybe it's the pregnancy. Okay, probably it's the pregnancy. I am very emotional and sentimental these days. NOT a good state to be in for your oldest child's birthday.

On Monday, Abby turned 7. Since toddlerhood, it's seemed that Abby has been straining against time, racing to get older faster than the days will let her. If she had it her way she would skip all the single digit years and move straight to 10 or 11. If I had it my way...well.

Abby loves all the trappings of girlhood--Hannah Montana, purses, makeup, boys, High School Musical, Jonas. But she also loves drawing and painting, playing on the monkey bars and wrestling with her daddy. Thank goodness pop culture hasn't completely taken over. Still, sometimes it seems like there's no "little girl" left in her.

And then.

Then we'll be doing something, like sitting at McDonald's for her birthday lunch, and her daddy will ask her what flavor McFlurry she wants as a birthday treat. She'll answer "In Em Ins", which will remind me that she still mispronounces M&Ms the same way she has since she was 2, and somehow I don't feel so rushed any more. Happy Birthday, Baby Girl.

Here's a picture of Matt, Abby and me at her first birthday party. I know, we were all babies then.

God Bless Fitted Sheets

In 3 days, my daughter turns 7. I don't want to talk about it. 6 was bad enough. So instead, I'm going to go to my happy place and talk about Las Vegas some more.

We stayed in the nicest place we've ever stayed on this trip--the Bellagio. It's smack in the middle of the strip and was the first hotel, when it was built in the 90s, to turn the corner from themed cheesiness to opulence. It worked for them. The place is magnificent.

Every hotel in Vegas has a "thing"--something unique and grand to draw the tourists. For the Bellagio, it's the fountains. In front of the hotel is a massive 9 acre lake*. In the lake are approximately 1,200 fountain nozzles that present a choreographed show to music every half hour to 15 minutes. Some of the sprays go 24 stories high. If you want to see a brief clip, click here and select Video Tour. The music ranges from opera to classical to Sinatra to pop. It's incredible to watch. If you've ever seen Ocean's 11, this is where they all stand at the end.

Here's a view I found online from the top of the fake Eiffel Tower at the Paris Hotel across the street (no, I'm not kidding). This gives you an idea of how giant the fountain show is.

Matt and I made sure to catch the show a couple of times. The first show we saw started, and we both cracked up when we heard the music: Celine Dion's My Heart Will Go On. Really? Talk about cheesy. Still, the fountains were great, and as we left I said, "Well, at least if we see another one we know it can't be worse than that song choice!"

Well.

The next night we went out, and when the music started playing and we realized it was God Bless the USA we almost couldn't stand up we were laughing so hard. It's not that there's anything wrong with those songs--necessarily--it's just that we had hoped for something really fun or dramatic, and instead got sappy Americana. But whatever.

When you walk in the lobby, you're immediately captivated by this crazy, 2000 square foot hand blown glass sculpture hanging from the ceiling:

I LOVE this thing. Not sure why, but I can never take my eyes off it.

The other main attraction at the hotel, besides of course the casino, is the conservatory. It's a huge glass-ceilinged room with some of the most incredible flower and plan work I have ever seen. They change it out 5 times a year, but the workers are constantly working to replace old flowers with new ones, repair problems, etc. The only problem with this room is that everyone wants to stop in the middle of the walkway to take their picture, so you have to stop every 3 feet to avoid walking through someone's frame. Drives me batty, so I usually only walk through once.

There's also a fine art gallery, and a restaurant filled with Picasso originals, but those are for rich people so we don't go.

Our room was, as expected, lovely. There was a great bathtub, a switch panel by the bed to open and close the drapes and sheers automatically, and the best dang shower I have EVER been in. The water pressure is so good you can actually feel a breeze created by the velocity before you get in. They have turn down service, and you get tasty chocolates on your pillows. All the comforts that should be present in such a hotel and then some.

However.

They have followed a trend that I find very disturbing, but which seems to have become the norm now in hotels. This is probably my single greatest pet peeve about staying in a hotel. In what must be some sort of cost saving measure, hotels never use fitted sheets anymore, Bellagio included. I cannot tell you how much this bothers me.

I am completely OCD when it comes to my covers. I admit it. They have to be just right or I can't sleep. I have been known to get up out of bed and remake the covers just to I can get back in and rest. At the top of the list of importance is that I cannot be having sheets all bunched up at my feet. Blech. Well, when a bed is made with a flat sheet on bottom instead of a fitted, this is practically inevitable. Matt has finally resigned himself to listening to me grumble constantly about this if we're at a hotel. I can't say I was surprised that the Bellagio is no different, but I was holding out a little hope that a hotel that can supply me with endless designer shampoo and lotion could spring for a dang fitted sheet.

All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed our hotel and its amenities. And if ever I get to go again, I will bring an iPod to listen to my own music during the fountain show if need be. And I'll bring a fitted sheet.

*I didn't make all the facts in this post up--I found them on Wikipedia, which means they must be true.