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Ten weeks from today, if he isn't born already, the baby will be here.
Out.
He's already here, he's just inside.
I think it's funny how people say "when the baby gets here".  As if the baby isn't already in the world, causing a stir.

Probably ten weeks from this exact moment.  A c-section is scheduled for 8.30am on December 11th, but I'm hoping to have him the regular way before then.  It's 8.50am now.
I think it's funny how people say "naturally" when they talk of vaginal births.  As if there is anything natural at all about a human body slithering out of your vagina.  Anything natural at all about a fully functioning human body inside your body in the first place.

Pregnancy is seriously the most unnatural thing I've ever done.

Are we ready?  Yes.  Would you know it by looking around our house?  No.  With Jake we had so much crap all over the place that we were probably ready for ten babies and we used about 5% of it.  With this one we have a co-sleeper bassinet, a swing and some blankets scored off a friend who is done having babies.  We have a couple dozen pieces of eensy clothing.  We have a healthy sense of mental preparedness that will probably be completely shot by New Years. 

We need a carseat.  I'll probably pick one up this weekend.

***

It seems like every weekend something costs us $200.  Like you can sail through the week and do so well with finances and someone up and slaps you with a note for $200.

Maybe this won't be the carseat weekend.  I forgot that Dave and Jake got a flat tire on the way home from Delaware on Sunday.  You can't ride on a spare forever.

Oh, and even though the temps are still forecasted to be in the 80s this week, I should probably buy at least 100 gallons of heating oil.

This weekend is looking like a $1000 weekend.

Economy, you're welcome.

If I was a homebirther, I would skip the carseat until absolutely necessary.  You use the carseat once for like the whole first month the baby is here, just to get home from the hospital.
If I was a homebirther, I would probably be totally ready for birth at any time.
Newspapers?
Old towels?
Hot water?
Bureau drawer?
Sharp knife?
Check
Check
Check
Check
Check

All systems would be go from day one.

What are the newspapers for?  The dad?
Or to lie down on the floor so you don't get it all bloody?
I think I would go with a tarp or some sort of plastic sheeting covered by the blankets that I'd use for dog blankets if I had a dog.  Blankets I was planning on throwing out anyway.

Whenever I think of homebirthing, I think of whelping boxes.
I think the term "natural birth" should only be used if there is a whelping box involved.

***

People are starting to notice that I'm pregnant.  There's a lot of extra attention coming my way these days.  I like attention, for the most part.

Just like when I was pregnant with Jake, I'm getting lots of attention from strange men these days.  Unless you've been pregnant, you might not know this but there are men from all walks of life out there who are WAY into pregnant women.  If I didn't have an involved babydaddy already, there would be plenty of prospects out there for me.  I don't know if they'd still want me after I give birth, but the next two months could be a total boon for dating.

Yesterday at Jake's school, I was mistaken for one of the Principal Dancers in the Pennsylvania Ballet by the head of the Ballet Program.  It must be my grace and poise.  Or something.  Never once did someone mistake me for a ballerina.  Seven month pregnant ladies don't look a whole lot like ballerinas.  Not this seven month pregnant lady.  Unless one of the dancers is pregnant.  Or between shows and eating like a regular person.

My self-esteem should be through the roof these days.

I'm feeling pretty good.  Physically and emotionally and socially and morally and relationally and spiritually and intellectually and any other -ally way you can possibly feel.

My hair is long.  For the first time in a long time.  Seven years or so.  I'm going to try my best not to cut it until I'm 40.  Cut it short, I mean.  I still get regular trim jobs.

Trim jobs.
Dirty.

***

There is this cafe near my house that I've been meaning to go to for forever.  Supposedly they have the world's best hot cocoa.  I went.  I paid $7.50 for the cheapest cocoa on the menu.  It was totally worth all 750 pennies it cost, plus the dollar tip.
The reason I haven't been yet was because it's called the Rim Cafe and eating chocolate at the Rim Cafe just sounds dirty.  Because, you know.  Rim?  Chocolate?
Too bad there aren't 12 year olds reading this blog, because they would be all "OMG!  LOL! PMAO!"

PMAO- puking my ass off.  I don't know if that's a thing kids say, I may have just made that up.

I know a girl who literally puked her ass off.  She went from like 140 pounds all the way down to under 100.  She spent a few months in a therapeutic rehab center and was force-fed through a tube and has false teeth now because hers rotted away.  Don't PYAO.  It's really bad for your health.

Hot cocoa is really good for your health.  Not your physical health maybe, but your emotional and social and moral and relational and spiritual and intellectual health.  I'm a Whole Person type person.  I like to take everything into consideration.