1. UN-packed hospital bag, RE-folded contents, then RE-packed hospital bag. TWICE.
2. Used complex mathematical equations to convince myself (and my wide-eyed husband) that this baby is coming soon- wherein I factor that both Myer & Ezra came 12 days early, and my due date was bumped up to the 23rd of March rather than the 24th, and I was measuring four days ahead at my last appointment, and considering the earth’s gravitational pull and the lunar quadrant to the fifteenth power, carry the one… this baby should be here in exactly seven days! Right??
3. Reminded myself that the baby could also just as likely be two weeks late.
4. Ate many, many cookies dipped in milk.
5. Walked up & down the hall of my house and felt a kinship with the wild animals on all those late night documentaries where the pregnant mama paces obsessively back and forth prior to giving birth.
6. Complained loudly to any and all who would listen of “much pain down yonder”.
7. Ate more cookies dipped in milk.
8. Shifted nursery furniture around a few
hundred more times.
9. Spent many sleepless nighttime hours imagining what that moment will be like when I finally hear the words “It’s a _____!”
10. Obsessively attacked laundry in such a manner that I can now hear the sound of a t-shirt hitting the carpet anywhere in my house and then CAN NOT rest until that shirt is clean & folded and put away again- nary an hour after its being cast off.
11. Convinced my five year old son to continually pray that this baby would come soon, mostly because I feel like five-year-old prayers are probably, on some level, more potent than my own.
12. Repented of potentially wrong theological thoughts towards prayer.