Eight months down, eight weeks to go. In that time, I have to:

• Finish packing up the rest of the clutter in the old house and move (and by "move," I mean point to and order around others to move) it to the new house.
• Get the old house in viewing condition and plant flowers in the front to fool people into thinking that this ghetto fabulous house is more faulous than ghetto.
• Attend a two-day, all-day child-birthing class this weekend at the hospital in order to get acquainted with the digs, to run through the procedure, and, as TP put it, to learn which way of the baby is up.
• Cram in as many overtime hours at work this week to tack onto my maternity leave in May.
• Finish watching The Constant Gardener and The Squid and the Whale before potentially cancelling Netflix since they have me on "the throttle list" but may reconsider when we move and fool them into thinking that we are new customers.
• Go with LB to the salon to get our brows in wedding-day-condition and hope that they don't get jacked up.
• Watch season one of Lost on dee-wee-dee.
• Pay taxes, bills, real estate agent, and movers.
• Participate in LB's civil wedding in town to be followed by LB's religious wedding back home.
• Turn in some schedule at work detailing my time off: vacation, sick, compensatory, maternity (without pay - stupid government), and possibly FMLA (also without pay - stupid government).
• Contacting everyone and everything to alert them to our change of address.
• Set up some sort of internet and/or cable connection at the new house.
• Try to jam a queen-sized bed into a full-sized room for when Mom and Dad come to stay with us.
• Organize the baby's stuff which, as of now, takes up most of the upper level of the new house.
• Oh yeah, and that other stuff: laundry, groceries, eat, sleep, work, play . . .

*thunk*

Avast! With all the goings-on above, I didn't find out about this until too late. Shiver me timbers!