Elvis has left the building

This is the last of a series of just,well, really tired posts. Look at that, I almost typed, "tured". Real nice.
You see, I'm 38 weeks pregnant. OK, not until Tuesday, but still, I'm rounding up. My belly is so why shouldn't I? Anyhow (sometimes I type 'anyhoo' and then I realize I *hate* it when I hear someone use that word. Hate it.) I'm just about checked out of my life at this point waiting for this babe to arrive. I feel like I'm going through the motions, just getting through the day, because honestly, I'm just plain beat. As you know, there are three other little ones under four feet tall in this house and it's a perpetual motion machine around here. Sorry to sound like such a bummer, but I'm just going to go stick my head in the sand until December 13th. Or later, as each child has been 'late' by 3, 2, and 4 days, respectively. I always thought that that number was supposed to go down with each pregnancy (as labor is *supposed* to be shorter each time as well. My first was 12 hours, the third was about 8. Guess that works) but somehow someone forgot to tell my body it's okay to have a baby anytime after the docs give the 'all clear' signal.
So we're waiting. And I'm driving everyone crazy.
And I'm trying to knit, but I'm just being plain stupid and making ill-timed mistakes, and then realizing that it takes more brain RAM than I possess to rip out half of a Conwy sock to fix the third row of cabling and then get back into it. LL on size 1s should be banned from gestating women, I swear.
MIL's Christmas socks in Bearfoot are more than halfway done, and I'm quite pleased. Since we wear the same size, I knit hers to be the same length as mine, and they *do* fit me, so I'm crossing my fingers that somehow my feet just appear to be the size of a small dinghy and in fact, are not.
Two weeks left.