It’s the Final Countdown.

As of last week, I was a little dilated, and a lot effaced.

I’m scheduled to have this baby in eight days.

My cousin is getting married in three.

The full moon — is in two.

I really, really want to go to her wedding. I’m just hoping I don’t get there, and then my water breaks in a church pew. But if it does, the carseat is installed, and the hospital bag is in the trunk, ready to go — just in case.

I have diapers, and wipes and blankets and a place for Mr. Man to sleep. I have a lot of other stuff too, and I’m sure I’ve forgotten about a dozen other things I should have. But I have enough to bring a baby home from the hospital, so I’m calling that “ready.”

I’ve finally stopped having dreams about getting my to-do list checked off, so I guess subconsciously I’m not too worried about what I have left to do. If the laundry doesn’t get folded because I decided to take a nap — eh. That’s what mother’s are for.

Mmmm. Naps. Yes, let’s do that.

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