That’s what I told my husband we could call our son if he decides to be born tomorrow.
“No,” John responded, in a most emphatic tone. “That is not what we would call him.”
We’re still here, Baby Berns and I. Yesterday was his due date, as you may recall, and I joked on Facebook that he is either the world’s most patient baby or the most stubborn. In this family, of course, there can be no doubt.
I joked on Facebook…and then I went to my room with a box of Kleenex and cried.
(Forgive me for the drama-rama. I am just so very tired.)
(So is my family. Poor me? Poor them!)
Had my 40-week appointment yesterday morning and my doctor and I came up with a plan—induction on Friday if I haven’t delivered by then. This is not the best-case scenario, perhaps, but I will say this: I AM SO VERY READY TO NOT BE PREGNANT ANY MORE.
(And yes, Virginia, the fact that she typed that using all caps is a sign of her fragile emotional state.)
School is cancelled for the day.
We will be drawing and baking and doing crafts…and we will ignore the albatross in the room. That is to say, we will ignore him until we can swaddle him.