I did not expect to be 39.7143 weeks pregnant. 39? Sure. 39.5? Maybe. But there it is, my due date, the day after tomorrow. I didn’t even mark it in my planner. And time has slowed and my body has shifted and I never know what we will be having for dinner tomorrow because how on earth am I supposed to know anything about tomorrow? It is a strange time, 39.7143 weeks. And who knows? I may soon feel the strange time of week 41. I never would have thought I would see week 41. I am tempted to sit and wait and pine and feel grumpy and ungrateful. But these are beautiful days, and that just doesn’t seem to do them justice. Not at all.
So this is what I will do:
I will eat afternoon bowls of sungold tomatoes with Reed.
I will take as many baths as I please.
I will play with Duplos.
I will play.
I will make something delicious. Often.
I will think about this baby. Often.
I will take pictures.
I will journal.
I will not hurry.
I will not plan for dinner tomorrow. Not ever.**
**Note: After fully coming to terms with the fact that this baby could very well arrive very late, I have come to terms with planning dinner. I’m in it for the long haul, folks.