Elisa has always been a bed hog. She used to weight 100 pounds (back before she was incubating), and still managed to snag about 7/8th of the square footage of our queen-sized bed.

It was partly my fault. She would instinctively snuggle close to me, and I would instinctively slide away. I need my space. But I couldn't keep it for long, as she would soon be reaching for me, sliding closer to me. I would retreat, she would advance. And after a few hours of this, I would hold about two square milimeters of bed territory while she -- gasp! -- closed in for the final kill.

Oh, the misery!

But damn, I had it good those days. Now, Elisa no longer weighs 100 pounds. I was reminded the other day when she insisted on sitting on my lap. I could feel the bones on my legs snapping under the pressure of -- well, a bit more weight than 100 pounds.

"Sweetie, can you please shift. I've lost all circulation on my leg. It'll probably be amputated. I hope you don't mind" I said, in the sweetest voice possible.

"Why?" she responded, "Because I'm a fat bitch?"

"Um. No..." I was treading on dangerous ground here, "it's just that --"

"I'm a fat bitch. Why don't you just say it?"

Elisa drowned out her sorrows in the refrigerator.

In any case, let's just say she takes up a lot more bed. But that's not all. She now needs "support pillows". There's like 13 of them on the bed. One for head. One between her knees. Another on her back, and yet another by her belly.

You know when you buy a computer, and all the components are nicely encased in styrofoam? That's Elisa at night.

And just think, she has to get up about 10 times a night to go to the bathroom. So when she gets back to bed, she has to reposition all of them. So lots of wiggling around, bouncing up and down, and inadvertant smacks in the head with those damn pillows.

It's time this baby is born. Because I'll finally be able to sleep well again. Right?