The End is Nigh

So I am now, officially today, thirty-four weeks pregnant, and I am beginning to feel certifiably crazy.  After we got the Christmas decorations put away Saturday, I shifted into high gear getting things ready for the baby.  I pulled out Jack's baby clothes and the cradle sheets and washed everything.  I got the changing table set up in the office.  I even toted the baby swing downstairs and now can't find a good place to put it.  I didn't think the nesting would hit me like it did last time, but oh, did it!  I was running around yesterday like the baby could come out at any minute and demand a diaper change, a clean onesie and a ride in the swing. 
I was also kind of cranky for some reason.  Maybe it's the acid reflux I get every time I bend over or eat anything larger than a grape.  Maybe it's having to pee every fifteen minutes.  Or maybe I am just tired of having an increasingly hard time getting around as my belly gets bigger and bigger.  Whatever the reason, I was pissy, and it didn't help when I discovered our dog had tracked mud all over the carpet I just vacuumed.  I almost burst a blood vessel in my head when that happened.  Said dog was shuttled outside quickly, before I lost control and beat her, and I re-vacuumed with a fury, muttering expletives under my breath the whole time.  Turns out, ironically, the vacuuming was a good physical outlet for my anger, and I felt tired and much better afterward.
I keep telling myself to enjoy these last weeks, when the baby is still inside and easy to care for.  Yes, I have turned into a class A clutz, but no one is waking me up in the middle of the night to eat or change a diaper, so I should appreciate that, right?  I mean, yes I almost cut my thumb off with a paring knife a week ago, and yes, I drop almost everything I pick up at least once, but there are good things about this kiddo still being in the womb.  I remember the post-partum period with Jack, and it's not all roses and earth-mother bonding with the baby.  It's feeling more tired than you ever have in your life, it's feeling blobby and out of shape, it's having sore, bleeding lady parts, and it's all in the face of having a new tiny being in your life who needs you to do everything for it, no matter the hour.  This time, I'll be doing it with a three-year-old as well, and that's why I keep telling myself not to get too antsy about getting this baby out of me. 
But I'm allowed to complain a little, right?  I mean, it's gotten to the point now where it's impossible for me to get physically comfortable and the smallest hiccup in life might send me into an emotional tailspin ending in fuming expletives (i.e., the dog/mud incident) or a waterfall of tears (i.e., last night when I was lying down with Jack putting him to bed and he did a nosedive into my face, bruising my nose and clacking my teeth together so hard it gave me a headache for the rest of the evening.)  And, all this is in the face of no wine and limited caffeine, so yeah, occasionally I feel sorry for myself.  I'm just trying to keep the complaining in check, because things are gonna go how things go, so I may as well enjoy the ride.  After all, this is the last time I'll be pregnant, and it is truly an amazing act of nature to grow and birth an entire human being.  So, when I'm not busy whining about my symptoms, I am pretty f-ing amazed at the miracle going on inside me.