Life is very different in the third trimester of pregnancy than it is during any other time in life. Here’s a bit of insight into how a normal day has been going for me:

1:00 AM: Wake up to go to the bathroom.

3:00 AM: Wake up again to go to the bathroom. Scoop water into my mouth with my eyes closed because I’m inordinately thirsty.

6:35 AM: Alarm blares. Attempt to turn over. Eventually flop onto back, then wiggle onto my right side and lurch my legs over the side of the bed.

6:43 AM: Catch a glimpse of my hands. Realize that my left hand is currently three times fatter than the right. Stupid fluid retention.

6:45 AM: Get in the shower. Thank God for solitude and hot water.

7:05 AM: A little voice cries “Mommy mommy mommy!” After checking to see if Sprout’s pajamas are damp (this child does 90% of his peeing at night), lift him up and change his diaper. Send him into our bedroom to wake up my husband.

7:10 AM: Peek into the bedroom to see them snuggling in bed. Climb under the sheets for a few moments of wiggly bliss.

7:15 AM: Realize that I’m only five weeks away from my due date. Woohoo – a little more than a month! Ask my husband what fruit the What to Expect app is comparing the the baby to this week. “A canary melon,” he answers. Mishearing him, I say, “A hairy melon? What the hell is that?” He shrugs.

7:20 AM: Contemplate how it’s becoming increasingly difficult to reach my feet to put my socks on.

8:03 AM: Face the 3/4 mile walk to the Metro station. “Only five more weeks. Like training for a marathon,” I repeat to myself every single block.

8:27 AM: Hear the train coming as I step onto the escalator up to the platform. Realize that I could probably make it if I dashed up the stairs. Realize that I might have a heart attack if I try. Stay where I am.

8:31 AM: Cross my fingers and think “Please please please let there be an open seat on the train.” Thankfully, there is.

9:15 AM: Run into a co-worker as I’m coming in. “How are you feeling?” he jovially asks. “Like someone who is so done being pregnant,” I reply.

9:30 AM: Incredibly hungry already. Eat the first of many snacks of the day.

11:00 AM: Get up to go to the bathroom and feel like I haven’t moved my legs in a century. Ow, ow, ow.

2:00 PM: Wonder why I’m in this meeting when I have so much to do before going on maternity leave. Try to keep from drifting off even though the room feels like a sauna. Hope no one notices when I fail.

5:00 PM: Flail as I try to answer the six emails I had half-started before I was interrupted by a media request, an urgent email from our Facebook manager, and two phone calls.

5:12 PM: Gaze in despair at my to-do list wondering how I can possibly complete it in a month. Shut down computer and go home anyway.

5:45 PM: Cross my fingers and think “Please let there be an open seat on the train.” There isn’t. Finally, someone notices me standing and apologetically offers me their seat. I sheepishly accept.

6:20 PM: Open the door to cries of “Mommy, mommy, mommy!” Sit down on couch and read a book to Sprout. Thank goodness he loves to read. I can’t handle anything much more physical right now.

6:30 PM: Notice the weird dents my socks make in my cankles as I take off my boots.

7:00ish PM: Dinner’s ready! “Sprout, we’re going to wash hands in five,” I say, only to be met with a defiant “No!” and a two-year-old sprawled out on the couch. He knows I have the physical disadvantage. While I’m now allowed to pick him up (unlike earlier in my pregnancy), it’s really hard with the size of my belly, especially if he’s fighting it. We finally resort to sitting down at the table for dinner without him, which upsets him enough to motivate him into washing his hands.

7:15 PM: We finally eat dinner, which is getting cold.

7:35-8:45 PM: We go through the rigamarole of the bedtime routine, complete with laughing, whining and endless delays.

8:50 PM: Attempt to pick toys off the living room floor and my entire uterus contracts. Erf. It’s a good excuse for not cleaning, right?

9:00 PM: Collapse on the couch in a heap. Despite my lengthy to-do list, futz around on the Internet instead.

9:30 PM: Groan when the baby decides to stretch out as much as possible, causing my belly to look like he’s going to exit Alien-style.

10:00 PM: On the way to the bathroom, peek into the baby’s room. His crib is set up, with a mattress and a blanket draped over the side. At least he has a place to sleep now. I sigh and smile.

11:00 PM: Vaguely consider doing dishes.

11:10 PM: Seriously consider the need to do dishes.

11:30 PM: Think “Oh shit, it’s late! I really need to do dishes!” Finally do them as quickly as possible.

12:02: Collapse into bed. Grin while my husband talks to my belly, saying how much he looks forward to meeting the baby. Ask him to lean over to kiss me goodnight because even those few inches seem insurmountable. Snuggle into my pillow, moving my hand around awkwardly so that I’m not lying on it. Thank God for having people who love me so much.