the waiting game

It's kind of funny, all this waiting and not knowing when or how it will end. We're all taught early on (I think) that the responsible thing to do is to plan for big events. Spontaneity is all well and good when it comes to spur-of-the-moment weekend getaways or a last-second decision to skydive when the clear blue sky makes it irresistable. But we're supposed to plan the big things- college, buying a house, weddings, etc. And we all know that children aren't supposed to be the decision-makers in the family. They need adult guidance and sensibility or else they'd all be out playing in the street and eating ice cream for dinner every night. But here we are, waiting for a not-yet-newborn to decide when it's time to come out. Is that responsible parenting?

Still nothing happening. I even had fewer than the usual BH contractions today. I did go on a cleaning spree, which C wasn't fond of because I guilted him into helping me while his beloved hockey game was on TV (he got to watch the whole thing anyhow thanks to the miracle of DVR). But now our floors are beyond spotless (until the cats' next game of tag, which ends in a wrestling match and a pile of shed cat hair), the laundry is all caught up, and the refrigerator is organized. The crib finally has sheets and a dust ruffle (I'm not normally a dust ruffle-y gal, but it came with the bedding we registered for). The bumper doesn't fit, but I guess bumpers are considered passe and unsafe now anyhow, so I left it off. The tent we have turns out to fit only on a play-yard, so I think we'll need to buy one for the crib to keep the cats out. I still need to clip the cats' claws and apply the SoftPaws that arrived in Thursday's mail (thanks for the suggestion, Kate!). Sure, there are still a few odds and ends to be done, but we are SOOOOO ready. Did you hear me Ishkabibble? We're READY! This is your mother speaking, and I would like to meet you now. Please come on out.