I Have Limits

Anger!
Frustration!

My husband thinks I don't have limits.
He thinks I will tackle anything because I'm stubborn enough and impatient enough and when I want something done, I go ahead and do it.

However...I *do* love my unborn.

Which is why, at this moment in time, I have the base of a sofa wedged between the kitchen and the hallway, with absolutely *no hope* of getting it to the lounge.

Now...if I weren't pregnant I would be down on my knees, frantically clawing at the base of it to prop it up and swivel it around the door frame, ignoring the pain and gritting my teeth in satisfaction when my back popped and the sofa squeezed through. But, being pregnant, instead I look at it with a cranky-pant face and sigh in frustration.

I was *so close* to finishing the lounge, you see.
And had I known I needed help I would have seduced boy into helping before he left for work.

Now I just get to climb over a sofa whenever I want in the kitchen and ponder what to do with the rest of the day - now widely interrupted by my dissatisfaction!

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!