Sorry, but I have to...

Typically, I can not stand complainers, but seeing as this is my blog and you are CHOOSING to "hear" me complain, I feel that it is ok to do so... every so often. I AM MISERABLE, PEOPLE! The doctor has cut me off from pop, coffee, anything except milk, juice, and water. I'm dying here! I NEED my morning caffeine! I'm chugging ice water like it's my job in hopes that the coldness on the inside does the same thing for waking me up as coldness on the outside. Also, I'm on a medication now to fight off a bladder infection and it makes me drowsy and nauseous. I have nine weeks left. 61 days. Just one day short of two months. I am so ready to be tired and worn out with a baby in my ARMS instead of in my BODY. When I complain about being exhausted in about three months, remind me of how miserable I was with 61 days to go. My legs and feet hurt. I can't sleep at night. Call me selfish if you will, but I want to go shopping and buy cute clothes (including jeans with a button!) and have a freakin' margarita! Mike bought me a new pair of heels and I can't even wear them because my feet hurt and my toes look like miniature hot dogs. I really might cry now... My toenail polish (red, not the pink I would normally wear in the summer) was chipped and I really needed a new paint job but since I can't bend over long enough to remove/repaint them, I had to just do touch-ups. I'm laughed at because by the end of the day, I sort of waddle due to my hips taking the afternoon off. I'm laughed at when I accidentally drip toothpaste on my shirt and think that I get it all cleaned off, only to have it re-appear after the water dries. I am tired of being asked how much weight I have gained. Last night, Mike and I were doing yard work and I was talking about what I want to do to the yard next summer. I made a comment about how it will be easier because I won't be pregnant. He said, "You hope you won't." He almost lost his life. 61 days... 61 days... 61 days... 61 days... *sigh*...