Yeah, it's kind of like that.
Only instead of a high five, it's a baby. Only instead of 3 hours--IT'S NINE MONTHS!
We were fine up until about two weeks ago. Though we had known of his impending arrival for several months, we did not have to chant multiple times a day "I can't wait to meet him, I can't wait to meet him." Though we've always been excited, it wasn't until about two weeks ago that I began to shake Jess, make her go on pointless walks and things of this nature. But alas, that most boring and pointless piece of advice seems to be true: He will come when he is ready.
Well that's for sure, because the Tabasco, the birthing ball, and the amorous endeavors don't seem to be doing a thing.
Each contraction is nothing but a tease, a false promise sure to piddle out. She even got four contractions over two hours last nite.
And then nothing.
Every morning I go to work, hoping I'll get the call, hoping I'll have to peel out of the parking lot like I would if someone told me there was a 5 for 1 deal at the Chevy lot.
He's officially due tomorrow, or was today, who knows about these things. As I do multiple times a day, I'll call Jess, "Anything?"
"Not really, just some weird tightening..."
"Do you think he'll come by this evening?"
"Jason, why do you ask me that 16 times a day? Has my answer ever been different?"
"I know, you're right, I just really want him to show up; I just want to shake his hand."
"Why do you say these things?" She asks as if there is answer.
If I knew why I said these weird things then I might think twice about publishing them on this web log, so the good lord shields me from knowing why I talk strange and think even stranger.
Extreme preoccupation results in a scattered mind, which is what brings you this strange and scattered blog (did I really make a reference to a "Chevy lot"?). Son, come soon, I'd like my brain back.