Running -- and thinking -- on fumes

It was bound to happen sooner or later.
I recently was chastised by the pregnant lady for making an unreasonable suggestion given the circumstances and growing circumference.
Last Saturday, we were going to go with my parents to a concert in Minneapolis. It was snowing, the roads were slick -- though not sheer ice -- and it was cold and windy. A classic snowstorm.
Anni asked if we'd be taking her car. If so, it'd need gas.
I was busy trying to get directions to the hall, so I asked Anni: "Do you want to run and get gas?"
There's a gas station a mere mile down the road. It did not seem to me to be an egregious request. Actually, the thought that it could be interpreted as such did not cross my mind.
She quietly said, "No, not really."
Later, it was pointed out that from here on out, such a suggestion is better left, well, unsuggested
"You want your 7 1/2-month pregnant wife to drive in a snowstorm to get gas?!" she asked.
Well, when you put it that way.
Some things are worth debating. Others, not so much.
I got gas.
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UPDATE: Everybody needs an editor, including lowly bloggers. (Actually, most of them could use several editors. But I digress.) After I posted this item, Anni said I left out an important detail that is necessary in order to understand my flawed logic. I actually agree.
The day after the snowstorm/gas fiasco, Anni said she was going to clean the bathroom. According to her, I had a concerned look on my face and asked: "Is that something you should be doing?"
So, there you have it. Should a third-trimester pregnant lady scrub the tub? No. Should she venture out for gas in bad conditions? Yep.

Got tolerance?

Anni asked this morning how I'll react if the baby is a real handful.
I said my patience would be tested like never before, but I'd adjust.
"That's why you've been with me for so long," she said. "I've been building up your tolerance."
Good point.

The game

At the beginning, it's exciting. Neither of you has done it before and now you're doing it together. You do it all the time and when you're not doing it, you're thinking about it.
You'll even talk to friends about it, maybe even get their suggestions. You stash away some of those suggestions for possible use; others leave you wondering why you're friends with such strange people.
Then, after a few months, the two of you fall into a routine. It's not as exciting as it once was. You go days -- weeks even! -- without doing it. And when you do, it seems forced and there is pressure. So to fix that, maybe you decide to get a book -- you know, to get some new ideas.
But it's when you realize that you've stopped thinking about it altogether that you start feeling embarrassed and pathetic.
Indeed, the baby name game can take expectant parents on quite a ride.
A few days ago, after weeks or maybe a couple of months of having given little thought to naming Bun, I realized that we're about two months away and, well, if we don't get crackin' that birth certificate's actually going to say "Bun."
It's tough, though, thinking of names. And the pressure's on: The bump-in-the-belly's going to be stuck with this identifier forever. You can't just think of something fun and clever; it's not a pet or car.
The name can't be too old, new, trendy, gender-neutral, strange, boring, tough to pronounce, difficult to spell or tedious to write. But with those self-imposed guidelines, sometimes I think we really will be stuck with "Bun."
Nevertheless, I'm determined to give this lots of thought. I already only half-jokingly say my life's full of guilt and regret, so I don't need to look back years from now and think to myself: "Self, way to go. You played the name game like you were cramming for a test, and neither worked out: Your kid got tagged with a crummy name and you got C's in biology."
So, here we are. There's about 9 weeks left, no time for lollygagging. Now, girl names are a struggle for us. They all sound frumpy, geriatric or pole-dancerish. Boy names are easier. We're kickin' around a few and might have settled on a first name.
What is it, you ask? Can't divulge. Couples have to keep some secrets.
That's what keeps things exciting.

So, where should the crib go?

Lately, people have been asking about the theme we've planned for Bun's nursery.
For now let's call it Simple Rustic.
Yes, this is the nursery. Clearly we're a few steps from thinking about a theme -- or walls.
Why is this room, the smaller of the two upstairs, stripped down to the studs? Well, I decided about three weeks ago that since Anni was six months pregnant, it was time for a major house project. So Dad helped -- OK, led the effort -- to install a new window in the larger upstairs room, our future bedroom. Then I gutted both rooms.
The plan is to tweak the layout, run new electrical, get it insulated well and then put up drywall.
Oh, and the plan is to complete that before Bun arrives.
I'm certain those who've seen or heard about the project think I am borderline nuts and in way over my head. Maybe, and I'm fine with that.
After weighing my options -- Option A: Start now and have improved, properly insulated rooms sooner; Option B: Start later, get done much later -- I decided to get on it now.
My approach is this: Keep pluggin' away and if it's done by the end of February, great. If it's not livable by the time Bun arrives, well, then, it's not livable, we'll squeeze into the downstairs room and I'll get the upstairs done when I can.
The first phase is done; I finished gutting the rooms this weekend. The walls -- some fiber board, some Sheetrock -- were pulled down and the crummy, crumbly Balsam Wool insulation was removed. (That part sucked; see below.)
I'll keep plugging away. In the meantime, what do you think: Should the crib go where the Shop-Vac is or would it look better by the studs? And should the mobile hang from the rusty screw or the rusty nail?