48 Hour Days

The clock in my life is moving about half-time. I didn't realize what a problem it was until yesterday. I got Lissy ready for school in the morning and rushed to my doctor appointment. I signed in and sat in a very crowded waiting room. A few minutes later, the front desk lady loudly announced that my appointment actually isn't until next week. If I wanted to see the doctor, she could get me in, but it would take a few minutes. I started giggling and my face turned red as I explained that I didn't really need to see the doctor, I just thought that two weeks had passed since my last appointment. I struggled to maintain my embarrassed giggling as I told Lincoln that it was time to leave the toy table and head home.

At this point, the confusing thoughts I'd been having finally started to make sense. On Monday night, I was perplexed as I rummaged through my brain to recall what we had done last week for FHE. I could only remember what we had done 2 weeks ago, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember the week before. Additionally, as I did my typical Tuesday morning weight graph, I couldn't recall what I had weighed the previous week--I could only remember 2 weeks ago. Throughout the week, I had experienced numerous moments of confusion just like these. When the doctor's office confirmed that the two weeks that had mysteriously passed in my life were actually one, it was a major AH-HA moment for me. I guess I've lost it.

I am so ready for this little boy to come, it's driving me nuts. That's the only problem with having typically short pregnancies. Patience runs out a lot sooner than it should. I'm only 35ish weeks along, but I'M SO READY TO BE DONE! Lincoln came at 36 weeks; Alyssa and Joe came at 37 and 38 weeks. Since I went into early labor at 29 weeks with this one, I've had it stuck in head that he would arrive any day. The practical me has to step in and whisper that I really don't want him to come too early. "Having a premature baby really isn't a great plan," I remind myself. But GRRRRR--it sure is hard to wait.

In the mean time, I have a serious case of nesting syndrome. I think I've run out of things to do in order to be ready.



His blankets are sewn and stacked neatly in the closet.



His quilt from Grandma T. is done. (And isn't it the cutest thing you've ever seen?)



The baby hammock is hung, awaiting a warm and squirmy body to make it sway.



The family room and kitchen have a fresh coat of paint. (And they look fab, if I do say so myself.)



I'm getting plenty of practice rocking cute bundles, although I'm seriously glad Maxwell won't be 40 lbs. for a few years. The old arm gets a little tired after a while.



I've made the trendy carseat canopy. (I've heard that any baby who wants to be some baby has to have one of these nowadays. I would hate for Maxwell to feel like he isn't in style.)



His clothes are washed, organized into 0-3, 3-6, and 6-9 months, and the 0-3 mo. are stacked neatly into a clean dresser.

I've organized my scrapbook stuff. The garage is clean and semi-organized. The cabinets are clean. The baseboards have been wiped down. I've sold over $200 of extra stuff to de-clutter. I've done a month of meal planning and grocery shopping (though we'll likely have to start over by the time he actually arrives, darn it!)



My bag is packed, ready to grab before our quick escape.

Now the only thing left to do is figure out how to make time pass more quickly than a snail's pace, so his birthday will actually arrive sometime this century...