I would post pictures of baby boy's cute little nursery, but it's not even close to being finished. The car seat isn't in the car, and the baby clothes and blankets aren't washed and folded in his drawers. He doesn't even have a middle name yet. I feel wildly unprepared.
The cashier at Lowe's last week said, "Are you ready?"
"For what?" I asked.
"For that baby that looks like it's coming soon."
I smiled at her - completely dumbfounded. And then I got in my car, called Mike and said, "Holy shit! We're having a baby."
To which he laughed. He laughed. (And that wasn't where the conversation ended, but the next few choice words paint me in a very poor light, and I don't want to ruin my rep on my own blog.)
Truthfully, all I have done is think about this baby NOT coming. Not this week baby, not this one either. I'll let you know baby, but NOT FREAKIN' YET.
And now, I only have thirty days left until my c-section on October 7th. I had no idea that I would actually outgrow my maternity clothes; or not be able to wear any of my shoes because my ankles have been rudely replaced by grapefruits; or not be able to bend down to pick up the twins' Thomas the trains from the family room floor because what I had for lunch will undoubtedly come spilling back up into my throat (payback for making light of Eliot's reflux all those months).
Trivial nonsense, I remind myself. Don't complain, I say. The third trimester is glorious, I repeat. Thirty more days . . .