Another day closer

Now there are 13 days until the due date. Last Friday was Friday the 13th, but nothing happened. When I was an athletic youth I liked to have 13 as my jersey number. Even my birth date makes 13 (1 + 3). Yes, I like the number 13. But I don’t want Peter’s Mom going into labor today. Why? Well, remember the bag? It’s still in the basement. The car is back from the shop, and purring like a big Swedish kitten now, but I didn’t put the bag together when I got back. Totally forgot about it.

So of course, Peter’s Mom didn’t sleep well last night, and then this morning she says she’s experiencing pelvic discomfort. I remained calm (if not a little slack-jawed) then grabbed one of the tomes on pregnancy looking for the early signs of labor. I took the class, and I knew what the signs are, but at 6:00 in the morning it helps to have a little assistance. It’s not like her water breaking - I mean, that’s an easy sign, right? But from the looks of it it’s not labor, just the boy doing his thing. Maybe moving downwards (“lightening”), maybe punching her in the liver or another sensitive organ, maybe he’s doing his impression of a bull in Pamplona...

yeah, I love that picture…

But it wasn’t labor! Besides, today doesn’t work for me. I have to get my hair cut tonight, and I’m way too shaggy at the moment. If Peter came out with my hair like this people would assume his name would be “Groovy Butterfly” or “Moonflower Lavender” instead of Peter Charles.

So, he can’t come out until I pack the bag and get a haircut. And do some laundry. And hang the wall art in the nursery. And…