literally approaching the expiration date. literally.

Oh it is getting real around here.

Sure when I hear I'm 12 days from my due date I know that it's soon or when I actually look at a calendar I get all excited, but it got real real today. Heart attack real.

Today, we bought milk with an expiration date after Baby's due date. Let that one sink in. With the way that we revere cereal eating around here, that was like a sign from God or finding Mary's face on a Cheeto. It makes it real. I'm sure the milk expiration date calendar system is as heavily revered in your house as it is in ours.

And on top of the milk that conceivably could still be fresh and living here for his birth (if Captain Crunch wasn't so delicious), now we are doing the real stuff around here to get ready. The stuff that isn't as much fun as making mobiles and banners. Like folding all the baby laundry, and buying nursing bras, and installing the car seat (ps: guess who read the entire instruction manual cover to cover and watched the training video online and read through the car's owner's manual? Here's a hint: the only member of this house with a BMI below morbidly obese. Also, let's continue with this massive parentheses, because that same someone may have gone a tad overboard with making sure the car was level for the inaugural car seat installation - apparently there is a slight slope to our garage - and my car was put on block to make it perfectly level. It's not like I can be super judgy about this. You can't really fault someone for wanting their baby to be safe or make fun of them about it, so I guess we'll just file this under moments that scream Chuck Allison and are entirely expected.).

Then yesterday we made "The Target Run" for all the really great postpartum items that I will need to make it through the aftermath of birth - which, btdub, does not involves fairies and wishes and magic dust like I was told/invented in my head:
~depends, maxi pads, liners
~Tuck's pads
~giant old lady underpants
~water proof sheet for if my water breaks at night or I wet the bed (both solid possibilities)
~and about a million different creams for the various ailments that I'm about to host

Birth sounds super fun people. Post-birth even more.

Obviously, there's a lot of sarcasm laced in those sentences which I'm guessing you picked up on. And what's worse, not only did I sign up for this and want this, but I actually paid good money for what I'm about to go through. Not sure what that says about me, but I do know what it says I can hold over Sam for most of his life.

Twelve days. We have our 38 week appointment tomorrow morning so we'll officially start taking bets on Sam's birth-day after that AND height and weight - which I think is way more fun to bet on at this point. My position has remained the same throughout the last few weeks - I'm not so much interested in length as I am in width, if you catch my drift. We shall see...

1 comment:

  1. WHAT????? No picture? Geez. It's the only reason I read this rag. I mean, it would be like listening to the Little Orphan Annie radio show when I was a kid and not getting the coded message at the end.



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