we be ready.

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Thirty-nine weeks.

I tried. I tried really hard this time. I attempted to leave things for me to do up until the due date so I wouldn’t find myself sitting around, whining about not having had a baby yet. BUT I’M READY. All the stuff is done. I’m now clawing at the edges of my mind to retrieve something, anything, that needs to be done, making up a to do list just to keep myself occupied and sane. All to avoid waking up like I did yesterday, with zero labor symptoms and nothing on the agenda except “birth a baby.” It makes the day unbearably long. It makes me grumpy and listless and zero-fun to be around. I powered through. I somehow managed to pay attention to my three-year-old’s chit-chat just enough so that she wasn’t scolding me for not listening. (That GIRL. She’s going to give some man a run for his money. In the far, far, FAR future.) Then Jones came home from school and there was SOMETHING TO DO. In my parenting opinion, overseeing homework is as bad as having to do homework (maybe double when it’s in your second language and you are only slight steps ahead of your own child), but it was SOMETHING. We did multiplication flash cards, finished his math test together, and wrote in his enikki (daily diary with pictures). Then he told me he thought he was going to be touban (in his case, class leader for the day), but the teacher accidentally skipped him, so he spent the first period of school crying silently with his head on the desk. I knew he had been studying the pattern and had figured out when it would be his turn, worked out in his mind what he’d have to do. I had to excuse my hormonal self from the table to go cry in the kitchen for the sadness of my son that morning (which he was already over). When I wiped my tears and we finished homework, I sat and stared at the wall until it was time to do the next thing.

We. be. READY.

Somehow, for some reason, I thought God would give me a pass this time. I mean, all of my other babies have been overdue, and this is the LAST ONE. C’mon God! Can’t you let her come a little early? Like a ‘thank you’ for finishing my birthing years or something?

On another note, Jones came home with his first notes from a girl today. All they say is arigatou (thank you), but still. They are NOTES, from a GIRL. I don’t know if I’m ready to enter the mind-splitting worlds of sleepless newborns and crush-developing young boys. But it looks as if I’m heading there anyway. Perhaps worry over which girls are digging on my super cool, English-speaking, studly little man will push out the boredom of birth-watch.

Nah.

Coming soon: deeper, more reflective thoughts on the coolness of waiting to have your own newborn during Advent, the season of waiting for Christ. Sometime. If it begins to feel ‘cool.’

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