This waiting thing sucks. I'm anxious pretty much all the time. Papa Clay and I spent the weekend staring blankly at each other and wandering from room to room looking for something, anything to do. It's difficult without house projects or baby projects or homework. We're bored. And when we get bored, we tend to fight. But this weekend we were even too bored to fight. Instead, I did some last minute baby laundry--sleepers and socks they were practically giving away at the end of a neighbor's garage sale. I also picked up a glider and ottoman with cushions that need to be reupholstered and wood to be painted darker. But that's unlikely to happen before baby gets here.
We went through the registry and the baby book to determine what else we should have (bottles, bottle brush, Pedialyte). And we sat on our deck and pretended we were enjoying the weather and the quiet. But mostly we stared at each other, at the belly, guessing at when it would all be over, when we'd finally meet Baby Clay. (And with my doctor out of town all weekend, I spent a lot of time willing her to stay in, at least until Monday.)
I also had a chance to speak to new mom Rachel, who had her baby last Wednesday. Thankfully, she didn't have any frightening stories to share, just one word of advice: get the epidural as soon as possible. I let her know that it wouldn't be a problem, that I am all about the drugs, that even my doctor declared that they were invented for a reason and that I should take what I can get. (Have I mentioned lately how much I love my doctor? I love that she tells me every visit that her son's birthday is the day before my due date. And that she gained 50 pounds with her pregnancy and so has never given me any grief about my own weight gain [of which I'm not sharing!].
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