Overdue by one

*An aimless post in which you'll find several ridiculous assumptions made by the tired-out pregnant lady.


This morning I'm sitting comfortably on my couch, unbathed and unkempt. It's wonderful. I'm done with work—for the time being. And even once "the time being" passes, I'll be working from home from here on out. And "here on out" feels like a beautiful thing to me.

A few weeks ago my doctor told me to mentally prepare myself to go past my due date. So mentally prepare I did. But still—I figured she'd be here by now.

Ridiculous assumption #1: I think that every single April 2010 baby is already here, except for ours.

Unfortunately, she missed the small window of opportunity to come while our apartment was clean. And I mean—really clean. So clean that a repairman fixing our oven complimented me by stating our oven and stove happened to be the cleanest he'd ever worked on. Boy howdy was I beaming after that one. Who gets compliments like that from a repairman? But sadly, that was last week. And she's too young to appreciate that a clean house only remains so for a small number of minutes before all the dust, scum and grime magically begin to replenish themselves. It's baffling, really.

Ridiculous assumption #2: Maybe she's waiting for me to clean the fish tank. ...If that's the case then we're all in trouble.

Ridiculous assumption #3: You'd think she'd at least be eager to come out and start wearing all the cute clothes we've accumulated for her. I know I would be. For me, vanity began in the womb.

In any case, I certainly don't want to rush the little miss. We're only just dying to meet her, that's all. 

So until her big debut, I'm making plans for a fun week. Tom Thomas and I are both on a work hiatus right now, so we might as well. Naturally, fun means that we'll spend excessive amounts of money that we're not earning all for the sake of marital bonding time. (No need to hyperventilate, Tom. I'm mostly joking.) I told Tom he could kindly take me to the Tulip Festival, because I have a thing for tulips. But Tom just looked at my belly and whispered "hurry" to the wiggling creature inside. I guess he doesn't have a thing for tulips. Sometimes matching up definitions of fun is difficult.

Speaking of the Thomas—I guess I'll let him hang around on the blog. For now. He did keep up his end of the bargain, although next time we make a similar arrangement I'll be sure to include the no-sideways-videos-of-Season-waddling addendum. But as he did briefly mention—he has started his own blog now. And for those of you who plan to be devoted fans—don't worry—I sat him down and gave him the "a blog is a big responsibility" talk.