So, the weeks have turned into months, and the months have turned into, well... almost 9. It's just about time for this little creature (or "alien" as he's often called in our "Sci-Fi-loving" household) to make his debut. Prior to last Thursday, we had decided on March 14 as the C-S date. I have to admit, as a writer, I tend to shun anything math-related -- but I thought it was funny to have the baby on 3.14, thus calling him our little "Pi Baby." Then the OB weighed in on the situation last week, airing some valid concerns (nothing life-threatening or otherwise dramatic, but concerns nonetheless) saying "waiting until the 14th is unrealistic."
What?! What was that loud rushing noise? That would be all the air being sucked from the room.
We were turned loose from the appointment with an assignment to look at our calendars and find a new date that will work. An earlier date. A date much sooner than 3.14. Not that it's all about OUR convenience, but having the "luxury" of planning a birth date for the baby allowed Jeff to juggle his work schedule and arrange vacation/personal days in such a way that I'd have him around to help for several weeks after surgery. Now, with the date moved up, there was an alarming gap of time -- say, two weeks or so -- where he is scheduled to work, THEN have a few weeks off. That's nice and all, but having help immediately after surgery is way better than after the fact. You know, when you feel like you've just been sawed in half and had the equivalent of a bowling ball removed from your mid-section.
I think we've managed to work things around, but now the new date is March 1. As in six days from now. Six SHORT days from now. This has launched me into a fierce prep mode, which a few friends have perceived as "nesting." I've always seen "nesting" as a cute, maternal rite of passage where the expectant mom waddles around the house, washing onesies, folding and putting them away with a light, loving touch.
Me? Not so much. Oh, I waddled around the house,... but it was more high-speed. Like someone was chasing me with a chainsaw. I spent a majority of Saturday evening doing laundry, while Jeff was at work. But that was just to catch up on what we normally have lying around in a (current) family of seven. If we fall behind at this point, someone is going to be going naked next week. Yesterday afternoon and evening my pet project was two-fold: 1.) pull all the boys' outgrown, summer clothes and get them boxed for the consignment store; 2.) pull entire maternity wardrobe and box up a majority of clothing I will no longer need after Sunday. (Oh, I'm no fool... I kept out all those loose, roomy jeans/sweats.) I have to admit, though, I was practically giddy with anticipation at being able to wear at least a few pieces from my pre-pregnancy wardrobe. For the better part of eight hours, I sorted, folded, boxed or hung clothing. And it wasn't as if anyone else could help with this project -- it was all up to my discretion and I knew which consignment stores were getting which articles of clothing. But now, however, I have a few distinct piles of clothing nearly ready to get the hell out of the house. :)
The next few days will be filled with tending to last-minute details, and I even have another baby shower to look forward to on Saturday (talk about getting THAT in under the wire!). But, if all goes well (i.e., providing I don't go into actual labor before then!) come Sunday morning we will welcome a beautiful, healthy baby boy to our family. Still a bit hard to fully grasp the concept, and we haven't decided 100 percent on a name (it's down to two), but he will be warmly-welcomed and much-loved.