Effectively, I have hit the last week of my pregnancy.
Unless we’ve got a little guy who likes to run late like his mom.
Only time will tell.
I was happy to let him hang out in his present environment through the weekend though, since we had about eight million errands to get done before finally calling it “good enough.”
People keep asking if I’m ready, and while I generally smile and say “as ready as I’ll be” (which is true), what I also mean it, c’mon you guys, no one’s ever ready for this and if they say they are they are likely liars.
And no, I still don’t have any diapers.
Luckily, the hospital’s sure to have some on hand.
What I do have is a place for BW to sleep, one thousand outfits, and JW and I willing and (mostly, we think) able to give this new adventure everything we’ve got.
So yeah, if that means we’re ready then show up any time, buddy.
Also this weekend, one more round of kettlebells in which Gene told me I should probably think about naming the baby something Russian like Boris (this is only slightly amusing when you’re 39 weeks pregnant and actively doing squat jumps), yoga where I could basically use my bump as a prop, all the Olympics, fried chicken birthday-celebrating, checking out the teens in their semiformal high school dance outfits, a stop by from LW, CS, and our nephew Sam, and a day of letting my mom feed me like I’m a fatted calf.
If this is to be the last weekend before the crazy sets in, it was exactly the way I would have wanted to spend it.
Enjoy the start of this one, chickadees, I hear above freezing is headed out way this week.