Another spring break at home. We like these little “stay-cations.” Which is good, because I have declared myself “unfit for travel.”
(Just to give you an idea as to my present girth, one of the kids threw a toy in my direction and it hit me square on the shoulder. “Ouch!” I hollered. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you!” apologized a contrite Luke. Then Andy blurted out, “Didn’t see her?! How could you miss her!!”)
Each day the kids get to pick out a fun activity. So far we have been to the zoo, had a picnic at the park, and today we’re going to a movie. Breakfast is hot, the Tangled soundtrack blares in the background, and we watch a DVD every night. Between washing tiny pink things in Dreft and sanitizing car seat covers, Junie B. Jones and her antics fill our downtime. It’s not Disneyland, but it’s home. (And right now my own bed and my own pillows have become inordinately important to me.)
Question: do you believe packing your hospital bag at week 37 precludes you from going into labor early? Now that I’ve done it and zipped it up, have I doomed myself to a 42 week pregnancy? You know, like a Murphy’s Law kind of thing? I’m not the superstitious kind, but as Michael Scott would say, I’m “a little stitious.”
For example, I copiously read through every detail of how to deliver your own baby at home published in my dog-eared copy of What to Expect When Your Expecting simply to “unjinx” myself from it ever happening. (Paul still has to travel this month.)
And I’m still waiting for that sudden burst of nesting energy that will mean labor is imminent. So until that happens, it will needs remain a fun, albeit un-vacuumed, spring break.
I need to lie down…