Today is the day you have been predicted to arrive. While I apparently arrived a day early, I don't expect any child of mine to be punctual, so I'm not getting my hopes up.
But look at your sister. She is so impatient!
She really wanted you to come Sunday night. I think this is mainly so she could get out of school and spend the day getting spoiled by her grandparents, but why quibble. She wants to meet you!
I'm ready to meet you too. So is daddy. We have spent most of the weekend looking at my contraction app (I know! They make an app for everything, right?), watching it rev up (along with our hopes) and then eventually slow down. You, for one, don't like all the squeeziness and tend to thrash around until the next one comes, which is about every 20 minutes. For the past 72 hours. Not that I'm counting. I spent most of my time hiding out from the heat and pollen and wonderful friends who can't believe you are still in my belly and not in my arms. But the longer you stall, the more movies in theaters I get to see, the more "No, this decadent, giant dinner out will be my last" I gobble away. So it's a win-win.
So you take your time. But not too long. I'd rather you come out on your own, kicking and screaming, then be forced out, you know, kicking and screaming.
And look who you get to play with. You're gonna love her. She's gonna love you. So forget what I said. Hurry up and get here already!
slide photo by uber talented Chip Chockley