It’s getting close to midnight here and the house is quiet.  We’re both in bed, but you better believe we’re not asleep.

She’s on one of her independent streaks tonight, sternly informing me earlier that she will be driving herself to the hospital tomorrow morning and that I may sleep in and join her whenever because, after all, there’s no reason for this to interrupt my daily life.

It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of, and I informed her of that before going to check my hospital bag one last time.

Across the hall, there’s a girl sleeping in my bed.  After all, it wasn’t like she, at six months pregnant, could load up her furniture and bring it with her.  And so, the night before she arrived, I told my cousins — who I bribed into helping me with $20 and the threat of me telling my grandmother they didn’t offer to help — to put my bed in her room.  And, the dresser, too.  The nightstand?  You really have to ask, boys?

And so I slept on the couch that night before she came, because somehow when my bed went into her empty room, it became her bed.  I couldn’t sleep in it anymore; it belonged to her.

I took the smaller room, naturally.  And, when I pulled out the measuring tape the next morning, I quickly discovered that the only bed that would fit in my new room would have to be a twin one.

Off to the furniture store I went, feeling like I was going back to my dorm days of sleeping all bunched up in my twinie.  I found a bed and a dresser; no room for a nightstand in this room.  I bought it and had it delivered that afternoon.  After all, I needed a place to sleep.

And every night since then, I’ve crawled into that twin bed as if I’m a bright-eyed freshman college girl with her pictures from home taped to the wall.  I think to myself, “Really, this isn’t too bad.”  And really, it wasn’t that bad– until Snuggles and Cuddles learned how to catapult themselves from the chair right onto the bed.

Three’s a crowd, especially in a twin bed.

I think about this bed a lot, about it’s significance.  I didn’t plan on getting a new bed until I was married; my old furniture was fine.  But here I lay, at this very moment, in a twin bed with two puppies fast asleep at the foot of it, the part where my own feet should be if they would just stop taking up all the room.

Three may be a crowd in my twin bed tonight, but in a matter of hours or days, we’ll walk through the front door with a sleeping bundle in blue and, without ever knowing it, Baby will make our own little family complete.

And three won’t be a crowd at all.

I had a lot of plans for tonight involving dinner with friends, meeting with my accountability group and maybe even catching up on the 127 emails currently residing in my inbox.

But one little doctor’s appointment complete with exam and an unexpected sonogram this morning changed all that within a matter of moments.

Instead I’ll be making sure the car seat is properly installed, the hospital bag in the car and Roomie is resting soundly.

‘Cause tomorrow morning? WE’RE BEING INDUCED!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Just so you know, the doctor told us there is a high chance that the first round of drugs won’t cause Roomie to go into labor and that we could be waiting several days before Baby makes his appearance. When we’re definitely in labor and seeing something happen, I’ll put up something to let you know that there’s actual labor happening!)

(Also: I am very, very excited.)

(And still trying to decide how to fix my hair for The Morning ‘O Induction.)

(I’m leaning towards curly and bouncy.)

(Don’t worry: I’ll keep you informed on the baby. And, obvs, my hair.)

A few weeks ago, I got a call from the newly engaged Katie (my former roommate for you newbies) asking me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. I said yes rather quickly because I know better than to miss an opportunity to dress up and walk down a church aisle with (hopefully) single men waiting in suits at the front of the church.

Of course, the groom is always out of the running but there’s usually enough guys left up there to cause all the bridesmaids to get in cat fights over who gets to sit by them at the rehearsal dinner.

Not that I’ve ever done that.

(Except at my friend Christan’s wedding.)

(Oh. And Brandy’s, too.)

(Ashley? I wasn’t even one of your bridesmaids and I still tried to do it. I’m sorry.)

Katie picked out beautiful dresses for us from the BCBGenerations line (which is not usually a first stop for bridesmaid dresses). Those of you that are familiar with this line know that their sizes run a little small to say the least. But the dresses are really classy. And cute.

And they only go up to size 12.

Now, I may share a lot with y’all (I mean, really? I told you this?) but I will NOT be sharing my dress size other than to say that it is not a size 12 or even a close cousin to that number. In her defense, Katie told me that I was welcome to find a similar dress in my size and that she didn’t care if all other nine bridesmaids were wearing one dress while I stood up there in another one.

Um, okay.

She really doesn’t care, but I do. And so, I’ve purchased that little black dress and it’s now hanging in my closet where I can see it every single morning. I know exactly how many days are left until the wedding (227, in case you’re wondering) and I have a plan that I’ll occasionally be updating you on that involves me becoming best friends with the treadmill and learning to love vegetables a little more than before.

I’ve been working at it for a little over two weeks now and I’m happy to report that I’ve lost 10 lbs along the way.

Which means I’ll now be able to get at least my little toe into the dress.

Ryan and Allie invited Roomie and I over for a little smores action last night. Now, as you may remember, I just recently tried smores for the first time in my life. Even though I didn’t like them the first time around and I am not exactly open to the idea of eating things off dirty sticks, I do like Ryan and Allie so I decided to travel the great 3/4 of a mile between our houses.

As I got ready to leave, I started putting on all my winter warmies (scarf, gloves, etc.) and remembered that both of my heavy coats were at the dry cleaners. I was already running late, so I just decided to ask Ryan if I could use a blanket to wrap up in. After all, you probably remember that Ryan has a certain $4.98 Target blanket that he recently wanted me to experience for myself. I figured I’d just use that, especially since he actually has two of the blankets.

I THOUGHT WRONG.

Ryan would not give me that blanket to take outside. That $4.98 Target blanket. He just would not do it. At first I thought he was joking but then I realized he was serious: he didn’t want to take a chance on it catching on fire or getting dirty because, after all, it must have been made with the finest quality materials seeing as it was so expensive.

Instead he gave me one of his jackets which is where the problem I want to present to you today occurred.

Here’s my concern: when I put on the jacket, I said “Wait, I can’t smell anything!” To which Allie replied “I KNOW! He doesn’t wear cologne!” Because we’re just like that, all one mindedness when it comes to knowing that when you put on a guy’s jacket, it should smell like cologne. It’s just, like, a rule of life.

Case in point: a mere two weeks ago, Roomie and I went to Sephora while we were in a Real Mall Unlike The Fake One In Our Itty Bitty Town. We were surrounded by every girl product you could imagine from mascara to make-up brushes, but where did we head? Why, straight to the men’s cologne section where we proceeded to smell them all while picking out which ones we want our future husbands to wear.

Last night’s experience, however, has caused me no small amount of sadness over the last 12 hours as I’ve wondered if (gasp!) there is a chance that my future husband won’t wear cologne. I mean, that’s the whole reason I was going to get married in the first place.

It’s not like I want to spend the rest of my life standing in Sephora picking out cologne for a pretend husband, you know.

Near the end of our day at Dollywood, I decided that MacKenzie and I needed a trip on the train that runs through the mountains beside the theme park to calm my little miss down. As we waited to board, I called Roomie with one (okay, two) simple questions:

“Hey, Roomie?” Except I don’t really call her that. SHOCKING.

“Yeah?”

“If I ever get asked out on a date again, could you please tell whoever he is to bring me to Dollywood at Christmastime and take me on the train?”

“That’s really weird. But yeah.”

“And one more thing. Could you ask him to hold my hand while we’re on it?”

“I’ll see you when you get home, Amy Beth.”

Laugh if you want, but I’ll tell you one thing: I have NO shame in admitting that I want to ride that train with somebody holding my hand. While I don’t have a list of things I’m looking for in a guy, I do have a short list of dates I want him to take me on: the aquarium, the zoo and, most importantly, Dollywood.

I can’t explain why, but ever since I was a little girl on class field trips to Dollywood, I’ve thought that riding the train at Christmastime would be the Best Date Ever. I have this image in my mind of me and some guy from my dreams riding the train together, mitten covered hands intertwined. Just thinking about it makes me smile.

In the last two weeks, I’ve been on that train twice. The first time, a very pregnant Roomie sat beside me; the second time, a tiny motherless girl. Not exactly what I pictured all those years ago when I imagined falling in love as the train circled the mountains.

But maybe that’s exactly who has been supposed to be sitting beside me this whole time. Maybe, while I figuratively ride the train until the one I’m waiting on shows up to sit beside me, I could keep his seat warm with others who can’t ride by themselves right now.

It doesn’t change the fact that I’m waiting on him.

It doesn’t make the desire for him to be here any less.

But it did give a little girl someone to hold hands with as the train rolled on.

Mittens and all.

Well, as you hopefully saw on Friday night’s post, I LOVED HSM3!

Look how cool I am with the abbreviation! It’s like I’m one OF them!

For me, the best part of the movie going experience was the couple sitting directly in front of us. They were in their mid to late twenties and obviously on a date to HSM3.

Be still my beating heart. I mean, when a guy takes you to see a chick flick, he really loves you.

The best part of watching them occurred when the two main characters in the movie kind of break-up (I hope that isn’t a spoiler for you avid HSM fans). The guy in front of us starts laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation while his girlfriend bursts into tears. I am talking sobbing.

It was well work the $9.50 just to see that part.

As great as my HSM3 experience was, it was also my downfall in fake parenting as it kept MacKenzie up way too late. By the time I got her home and tucked into bed, we were having a complete meltdown (pay attention to that phrase because it will be a theme throughout this post). I had made the mistake of telling her we were going to Dollywood the next morning (WHY? WHY WOULD I DO THAT?) and she just refused to go to bed.

She finally fell asleep, but not for long. At 1:13 a.m., MacKenzie woke up long enough to insist that it was time for us to get up and start getting ready for the theme park. At 3:56 a.m., she woke up unable to locate Piggy (a little stuffed pig that she sleeps with) which caused me to go on The Great Hunt For Piggy until approximately 4:07 a.m.

I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know that Piggy was discovered hiding under the bed.

Around 5:15 a.m., she woke up again and this time began putting on her tennis shoes since, after all, if we arrived at the park four hours before it opened, we’d be first in line! I told her to get back in bed and let me sleep a bit longer or she wasn’t getting a funnel cake.

You may send my Fake Mother Of The Year Award care of the Starlite office.

When she woke me up around 7 a.m., I gave in and started getting both of us ready. I would just like to say that I did not fix MacKenzie’s hair all cute. I mean, I do love good hair but hello? I was working on a sleep deprivation cycle here.

We made it to the park, however, and spent the day alternating between riding The Scrambler and MacKenzie have tantrums throughout the park. Oh, and my favorite boots caught on fire while we were watching this fire thing.

It was Dollywood bliss, y’all.

I. Love. High. School. Musical.

Seriously. Why has no one ever forced me to watch this before?

In just a few hours, I’m picking up a particular wee child that calls me Mama Llama (if you’re fairly new to the blog, MacKenzie is a little girl I know who is being raised solely by her father so I frequently get her for mini-visits) and taking her for 24 hours of fun courtesy of two things in particular: tonight’s debut of High School Musical 3 and tomorrow’s day ‘o fun at Dollywood.

That’s right: I’m going back for Round 2. Listen, the kid loves it. Who am I to cheat her out of the happiness that is found at Dollywood? I mean, I have season passes for us so we might as well have a little bit of fun.

‘Cause there ain’t no fun like Dollywood fun!

(I’m sorry I just used the word ain’t, but it seemed appropriate.)

(Also: do you think Dollywood might want to use that slogan? I’d sell it to ‘em.)

(Or they could just give me a lifetime season pass to the park.)

(BE STILL MY HEART.)

Ahem. I have a more important question for you, however: what exactly is High School Musical? I know I should know more about it, but I’ve never actually seen the movies. I have conversations with MacKenzie about it all the time, but it’s mainly just her telling me about it. Our Starlite girls talk about it, too, but somehow I’ve missed out on the storyline. I’m going to need y’all to give me the short version in the comments so I am adequately prepared for tonight’s movie-going experience.

Of course, I may be a little distracted in the movie theater thinking about Dollywood.

It’s a sickness AND I LOVE IT.

I’ve waited all week to tell you about The Due Date Fiasco of ’08 as I like to call it. Are you ready, ’cause I am about to BLOW YOUR MIND: Roomie has had no less than five different due dates.

In case you’re keeping track at home, those dates would be Oct. 1, Oct. 18, Oct. 25, Nov. 1 and, in a move that proves her doctor would just like to play it safe, The First Week Of November, But Maybe As Late As The 10th.

Now, I don’t know much about pregnant women but I do know this: you do not tell a woman who thought she was past due that she could remain pregnant until the 10th of November. You just don’t do it.

Also, doctor, you need to pick a date instead of saying TheFirstWeekOfNovemberButMaybeAsLateAsTheTenth real fast so it sounds like a date on the calendar. WE NEED AN ACTUAL DATE, SIR.

And by “we need a date” I am referring to a due date, but it’s not like we’re gonna turn down a honest to goodness date, either. Especially if it involves dinner and a movie.

Remember: just because Roomie is nine (ten?) months pregnant doesn’t mean the instruction to “be ready in season and out” isn’t applicable.

Oh the emails I’m going to get from writing that last sentence.

In an effort to distract you from realizing how mildly inappropriate my last attempt at a joke was, I have a question for you that isn’t funny at all.

What experiences have you had (or even seen a family member or friend have) with postpartum depression? Did you recognize it when it was happening? How did you deal with it?

I know this is a sensitive question, so let’s make sure all of today’s comments are respectful of each other, okay? In other words, be nice.

Or you’ll be getting a large scoop of processed nacho cheese in your stocking this year.

As I was getting ready to leave the office this afternoon to go see our three middle school programs, I suddenly decided to “live blog” the whole afternoon. I’ve always wanted to give y’all a peek inside what a day with Starlite looks like, or at least an afternoon.

So, as I went throughout several hours of going to check in on the programs, I live blogged it via my Twitter account. I thought y’all might like to see what it’s like, too, so I’ve copied and pasted the updates below. I held nothing back, including my short delay at Sonic.

Hey, a girl’s gotta eat. Except I didn’t get to eat due some major inadequacies at the local Sonic drive-thru. So, actually, a girl doesn’t have to eat.

It’s just nice when it happens, you know?

amybethsofab: Getting ready to leave the office to go see some of our middle school programs this afternoon. Thinking about live-Tweeting it. Yay or nay?

amybethsofab: LiveTweeting it is! On my way to Cleveland Middle School. The bell rang about 3 minutes ago, so the girls are on their way to the cafeteria!

amybethsofab: Just arrived. Lots of girls running around. Our volunteers didn’t know I was coming. They look nervous, LOL!

amybethsofab: Three of my college girls – Erika, Jenelle & Mary – lead this program w/ a lot of college-aged volunteers.

amybethsofab: Today is Erika’s 19th birthday. I just made her eat processed nacho cheese in front of the middle schoolers. I’m their new hero.

amybethsofab: 6th grade girl: “I heard you’re the one who started this. I just wanted to say thank you.” Why, you’re very welcome.

amybethsofab: In the car on my way to the next middle school. Listening to The Best of Hip Hop 2005. Jealous much?

amybethsofab: I promise you I have NO IDEA who put this CD in my car. Seriously! Why don’t y’all believe me?

amybethsofab: Running late due to an absolutely unavoidable detour to Sonic. I blame {my friend} Cody for taunting me earlier with his Tweets about Sonic.

amybethsofab: Still waiting at Sonic. How hard is a chicken wrap & Diet Coke? Had to ask for a refund so I can get on the road. No lunch today for me!

amybethsofab: Pulling into Lake Forest Middle School, our lowest income school. And, if you want to know the truth, my favorite out of all 10 schools.

amybethsofab: For many of the girls in this room, the nachos aren’t just an afternoon snack. It’ll be the only dinner they get tonight.

amybethsofab: Our leaders at this school are Stephanie, Dalphina & Anna. Stephanie likes to be called Paco, though. I’m still not exactly sure why.

amybethsofab: Racing towards Ocoee Middle School while knowing that there’s no way I’ll make it in time… hoping there’s some tortilla chips left for me!

amybethsofab: Got here in time to see the girls grabbing their backpacks and heading out. No chips left either. Double frowny face = (

amybethsofab: Our office is across the street from this middle school. Waiting on Joy, Nina and Stefannie to come in & tell me how it went!

amybethsofab: Waiting on the last volunteers to bring back program supplies so I can go get some dinner before attacking my inbox.

amybethsofab: Fun fact: it takes almost 60 volunteers to pull off what we did this afternoon. That includes program leaders, volunteers, office staff, etc

amybethsofab: And today isn’t even our busiest day of the week: on Mondays, we’re in FOUR schools simultaneously. On Tuesdays, three more programs.

amybethsofab: This has been Live Tweeting W/ Amy Beth. It’s now over cause I need time to regroup before The Office comes on tonight. Priorities, people.

And that, my bloggy friends, was my Thursday afternoon.