It seems that I spend my life waiting. I should be a pro by now. I wait for payday, and for the mailman. I wait for our tax return and for the kids to get home from school. But somehow, these last few weeks and days of pregnancy seem eternal. Every day is a week, every week is a month. And waiting takes on a whole new meaning.
We are waiting for our little one to make her debut. Tomorrow will be exactly one week from my due date. I could let the doctor pick baby Emily's birthday, but for now we are content to let her pick her own, hopefully. We are both anxious and my husband's calls from work now include the question, "Are you having any good contractions?" To which I sadly reply, "No."
I've decided that waiting for a baby is a little like waiting for a child to decide to be potty trained. You know deep in your soul that your child won't go to kindergarten in diapers. But you still wonder if your child will be the first that will. Just like you know that baby can't stay in there forever, but when a day feels like a week, you start to wonder!
So for now, I am trying to keep myself doing little projects to keep my mind off of how very pregnant I am. My husband calls it nesting, I call it keeping my sanity. Though, so far my little projects seem to also be torturing my children. (That's how you can tell a good project. By the amount of complaints it illicits from the children who are required to help!)
So I am waiting. Waiting for Miss Emily Claire to decide to come out and play with us. And I wouldn't mind one bit if she came sooner than later!