Life at my mom’s house ticks on–just one more week until I go home, boo hoo.  I will miss the family for real; I will not miss the three flights of stairs.

In the time since my last post, I’ve been trying my best to keep warm.  And by that, I mean…

Taking my sister and her fiance to a fabulous dinner at Left Bank to celebrate their awesome grades (did I know that there is such a thing as steak with garlicky greens and a lobster tail on top?  No, and I didn’t either! Did it taste so amazing that I wanted to bankrupt myself by going back every day for a week after having it?  You bet):

Painting baby onesies with my sisters–a project that could have turned into a veritable disaster but which actually produced the FOUR coolest onesies around:

Taking lots of walks outside with my camera and sundry assorted family members (ok, mostly Mr. Man and Ana), in which I’ve memorized the best of the West Side houses and the best of the West Side bathrooms:

Celebrating my birthday with the entire family, who now know better than to ever put my ACTUAL age in candles onto a cake–let’s just say everyone learned that the hard way after losing a third of the lemon cake’s icing to a wax bath:

And generally hanging out every day after work–lots of tea, lots of food, lots of Scrabble, a good dose of evening rum (for everyone but me), and some fun with the belly–watching Miss Young Money bounce random things we put on the belly and being a total creeper with the belly and making it appear slowly from behind doorways.  I may as well get some comedy out of having a ginormous basketball in my stomach, right?

There’s still more fun to be had in the last week I have left here (hot movie dates with my mom, getting a haircut and pedicure with my sister, doing some closet organizing and eating… you know, the usual).  And it might be because today is pretty gray and dark, but I’m starting to get that melancholy feeling I always get when I know that I’m both looking forward to going home and sad about leaving THIS home.  There’s such a disconnect between these two lives (and you’d better believe I know how incredibly lucky I am to be able to have both of them) that it’s hard to get my head around the fact that both places go on, regardless of whether I’m there or not, and that I can enjoy both places so much and yet miss the other so terribly when I’m away.

(That’s not just gestating hormones talking, by the way.  My pregnancy hormones have actually made me way sentimental and weepy, oddly enough and much to everyone’s amusement.  I know we all wish I’d stay this way–it saves us a lot in Kleenex).

So, here’s to one great last week of winter 2012 in Buffalo.