Everything is totally sneaking up on me. I just stared at iCal for like 10 minutes trying to convince myself that Thanksgiving wasn't really just two weeks away. It is.

And just like I feel unprepared for baby girl's birth, I also feel unprepared for the turkey feast that is approaching with uncontrollable speed.

I have a pretty damned big turkey in the freezer. I bought one of those disposable foil turkey roasting pans - I opted to spend the extra $0.50 and get the one with handles (We're high society here, what can I say?). My pantry has a couple of bags of Mrs. Cubbison's in it (or is it Pepperidge Farms? I don't know.) and enough canned pumpkin and cream of mushroom soup to make you raise an eyebrow. I own Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" holiday CD (and can't wait to pop it in but have been waiting for the right moment) Amaris is looking forward to "helping" me cook the "chicken". I've compiled almost every holiday recipe that I can think of (which totals out to WAY more food than will be necessary, but if I am anything, I'm indecisive and I can't "slim down" my to-do list for fear of leaving out the "wrong" things) and have organized them in a handy little Word "notebook" document - complete with a grocery list and a timeline for when to prepare what.

But still I feel un-ready. And awkward.

I'm working on it. Whether or not I'm ready means absolutely nothing - Thanksgiving is coming and I will be cooking.

Yesterday we finally got word that our household goods had arrived on the island and were passing through customs. I got overly excited and assumed that we'd have our belongings in our house by Friday - despite the fact that Friday is already scheduled to be a hectic day with the Marine Corps Ball to worry about and Mark doing some volunteer event. At least we'd have the weekend to get things settled in and "normal".

Wrong.

The soonest they can deliver us our things is Monday. It kills me to know that my mattress is currently somewhere on this 463-square-mile island, and will remain in a giant wooden box till next week. Next week, when Mark is slated to be out in the field for 3 days. The timing on these things is absolutely phenomenal, let me tell you. I've been trying really hard to curb my complaining on the matter, but the facts are these: Every morning my daughter wakes up coughing. My entire body hurts. My walls are bare. I'm losing my mind.

For me to be in pain is one thing. I'm a big girl, though, and despite the discomfort, I at least understand what is going on (as much as I can, anyways) and I know why I am in pain and that it is temporary. Plus, if I weren't pregnant, I'm sure the pain would be significantly less. A good portion of this dilemma is my moodiness.

For my two-year-old to be suffering SUCKS. You can't explain to a toddler that you know her sleeping conditions (and living conditions) are shitty, but that it is going to be better at some point. You can't explain to a toddler that her empty, cold, industrial bedroom is why she wakes up with a massively hoarse voice and pain in her chest every morning and that you're really trying to make it better. She has been a real trooper so far. But I still don't think it's fair for her and honestly it makes me sad. My effort means nothing. I asked Mark last night if he ever wondered what Amaris thinks of the whole thing - if she worries that this will be permanent, her empty bedroom with the twin-sized air mattress and no furniture, the little TV on an end table in the corner of the living room, the blank walls throughout this echo-ey space we've been calling "home"... Her empty bathroom. I wonder if she looks around and thinks, "Gee, I miss the way things were." In San Angelo she had a bright, colorful bedroom with fun furniture and stuffed animals and all of her things. Even in transit, she at least always had a bed to sleep in, with real bedding and a springy, elevated mattress.

Mark doesn't know what Amaris thinks about this situation. Obviously, neither do I. But I can't wait to see her face when her bedroom is re-assembled.