Dear baby girl,
There was something in the air this past weekend. First, my cousin's wife, who
Thankfully, you stayed put. I gave you a firm talking to about needing more time to cook you, and I think we have an understanding. I mean, after I told you you couldn't come out yet, you poked me, and I poked you back. If that doesn't constitute a contract, I don't know what does. Just kidding Professor Gergen, I totally do! It's: 1. Apparent assent to undertake an obligation; 2. A legal basis for enforcing that promise; and 3. Sometimes an adequate writing as evidence under the Statute of Frauds. And NO, I did not have to go back to my contracts outline to look that up (I totally did). Sigh. Not only is your mama a total nerd, she apparently also has really bad long term memory. Or is this short term memory? Uh, I'm pretty sure it's long term. Sigh again. Your mama apparently doesn't really know the difference between long and short term memory.
Even though I'm confident you're not the type of girl to break our contract, I've began getting some things together for the hospital bag. I already have some stuff, and I ordered a few things I still need online. Once those arrive I'll pack everything up all nice and neat. In the meantime, I'm controlling my OCD need to get this does ASAP in the only way I know how-- I made a long list of things I need to bring, and highlighted everything on it. As I put together the things I have, I'm crossing off and un-highlighting. The things I still don't have are therefore boldly and tortuously flaunting their un-crossed yellow highlighted selves at me, making sure I get them done sooner rather than later. Because what's worse than to do list items that are both un-crossed AND highlighted? That's a double whammy right there.
In all seriousness though, the time to your arrival really is ticking down so quickly that I'm getting anxious about getting everything done. I KNOW, that is SO uncharacteristic of me, right? I think the fact that we still have about a month and a half of construction left before we can move into our new house (and that's a pretty generous estimate) is really starting to weigh on me. In theory, I know that if you come before it's ready and we're still living at your uncle's house it's not a big deal. But that's only in theory. In my gut the thought makes me so anxious that I feel my insides being all twisted up. And then I think about how that stress can't be good for you, and stress out about that, and then I twist up some more. So I propose a deal: I'll get everything I possibly can ready for you ASAP (note that the house is out of my control), but you still hold on to your end of the bargain and stay inside my belly for at least nine more weeks. Mmmm-kay?