Proof that I am tougher than I thought.

Uh, other than the fact that I've unmedicatedly shoved five people into the world under my own power and stuff.

We're STILL waiting.  The guy at the bank said Monday that the appraiser is swamped right now, but we should hear something by the end of the week.  Ladies out there, remember the last trimester of pregnancy, how time seems to dawdle and drag for no reason but increasing your misery and discomfort?  Then, when you think things cannot get worse, the last month takes a year, the last week an age of the earth.  I've got that sort of time-warp going on right now.

Here's how my week has gone:

Every time the phone rings, I pee a little.  It's never the bank.  In the meantime, we work like dogs to pile up capital, paying attention to our needy offspring only when there is no alternative.  (Don't worry, with Loch, that means we only hold him twelve hours out of the day.)  We experience the regularly scheduled craziness from three to four when we box bodices, print labels, and take the pile to the Post Office.  Then, when the busy fades, I realize that ANOTHER DAY has passed without any news.

At this point, I just want to know how it's all going to end.  It's the constant strain of wondering, and not knowing, and being stalled again and again, and again.  NOW WATCH ME TRY TO EXPRESS EMOTION WITH THE CAPS LOCK!  I won't say I'm handling it gracefully, but I am enduring. That counts, right?