Aaand the visit is off again. The twists just keep on coming! Mr. Book found out yesterday that our car requires something like $800 in repairs before we make a road trip, so he’s going to get a second opinion and then we’ll have to figure out where the money comes from and then get the repairs done. Good times. It’s an old car, so this isn’t a terrible shock—but it is terrible. We had hoped to buy a bed, and certainly all that money is going into the car . . . and then we’ll see about the rest. Bleh.
I’ve read that I should expect small bursts of fetal hiccups, but haven’t noticed any this time or last. Instead, I get short bursts of hiccups several times a week—it started months ago. I may have the little bird’s hiccups.
Tonight I’m going to Wal-Mart; the Mister has been scheduled for a long, overnight shift, and it’s going to be my best shot at the monthly massive grocery buy, so please wish me luck regarding sleeping in his car. I know this is a lame post, but I’m just not feeling well this week. I’ll be less lame soon, promise.