I, meanwhile, am searching for a new car. My ancient car succumbed to a cascade failure of overheating conditions, and by the time I could pull it over safely, the broken alternator belt had brought down several other systems with it--the radiator actually burst at the seams. Coolant everywhere. It happened in traffic, but no one was hurt, so I'm feeling lucky.
Test driving cars while eight months pregnant would be pretty entertaining, if it were happening to someone else and I got to watch just the highlights reel. You can picture it well enough: the five-foot-even woman with the huge pregnant belly trying to get the seat close enough to the pedals to press the brake, while trying to telescope the steering wheel far enough into the dash so that her fetus will stop punching it, with great visible seismic punches, through her tentlike maternity clothes. My general policy is, if I can feel the baby punching the steering wheel but I still can't get the gas pedal all the way down, I'm in the wrong car. You'd be amazed at the efforts some salespeople have gone to despite the ergonomic impossibility of my driving some of those cars off the lot.
The various writing and editing projects do still creep along, though the total collapse of my car has been a major time sink. Whenever I'm not looking, my brain works on a lovely blog post about cognitive science, teaching methods, and query letters. If I ever have front steps or a non-rental car again, I'd love to tell you all about it.