Here’s a post I never thought I would be writing–I’ll be 39 weeks on Wednesday and baby boy still hasn’t shown.
Every time I pick up a bag without warning, my little girl thinks I am “going to work to bring baby brother out.” According to her, little steps are going to drop down and he is going to walk out.
Diva the kid is very eager to meet her little brother. She draws portraits of him, having recently mastered the art of drawing an oval and placing “two eyes, nose, mouth, and HAIR (scribbled most enthusiastically)” in more or less the correct spots.
Everything she associates with being a big girl has become tied in with brother’s arrival. According to her, she will sleep in her own bed and give him the crib, give him all her “bops” (pacifiers), and start using the potty. Somehow I think this transformation will take a bit longer, but who am I to disagree?
In the meantime, though, we are all waiting for the big boy to come out and play. At my 38 week appointment, the midwife said, “How big do you think this baby is?”
I answered, “Well…based on my complete lack of medical training and my single previous experience being pregnant, I think he’s bigger than she was. I think he’s already over 8 lbs.”
She gave me a somewhat indulgent look and responded, “At least!” in a way that implied he was most likely a bit over. Of course, none of this is reliable measurement, but I won’t be surprised if he’s over 9 lbs at this point.
We’re all ready to go now. Granny’s been staying for a week to watch the toddler, I’ve been clearing my work schedule, and Daddy’s been on alert–cell phone on at all times.
We’re all ready, except the guest of honor.