I'm not. Really.

To set the record straight, I'm not miserable.

Yes, I'm 38.5 weeks pregnant. 

Yes, it's August.

No, I can't bend.

Yes, I waddle.

Yes, I only waddle for short distances.

Yes, I have to sit to sing in church.

Yes, I'm tired.

Yes, I'm somewhat short tempered. 

Yes, I'm done being pregnant.

BUT . . .

I'm not what I would consider miserable.  Maybe inconvenienced by some of the above, not not miserable.

Do I look miserable?  Because people seem to think I should be.  And then they say as much. 

No, I don't feel miserable.  I'm not sweating constantly, in pain constantly, or swelling in my ankles and hands.  My house stays reasonably cool for as warm as it is outside and is rather comfortable.  The baby seems healthy and active and is running out of room in there--which is good.  Normal.  I can still reach into the wash machine to switch out the clothes. I thank my kids every day for being as independent as they are--getting themselves taken care of as much as a nearly seven, four and two year old can.  Makes it much easier on us all.  They are helpful, too.  Mostly.  And I was musing the other day that you know you are really pregnant when your tummy becomes a tool.  It's a funny thing. 

But to be honest, maybe the husband has a different opinion on the miserable thing. Maybe I'm just used to it. I won't ask him.

Did you know that a major perk to being pregnant in the summer is that you don't have to bend to put on your shoes?  Seriously, it's a major bonus.  (Just ask this mama who's been pregnant in the summer three of her four times!)

The moral of this post--please don't assume I'm miserable.  I'm just pregnant.  And if you do assume I'm miserable, I will probably smile and tell you I'm not--from my seated position.