That’d be…the sprout, technically speaking.

There is no question that my belly is definitely full term OMG can it stretch any farther?! It is in a constant state of outness, if that’s even a word. My belly button goes from flat to complete outie depending on where the sprout is laying and how much I’ve recently eaten.

Yesterday, we had another OB appointment (I go weekly, now). One of the non-fun ones that will, from this point forward, include no pants.

I’m getting ahead of myself, here, but at the end, as Tim was trying to wipe off the gel stuff they use to listen to the fetal heartbeat and he was all, “You still have some in your belly button…”

I looked at him, pushed out my belly so my belly button popped completely out and smiled up at him all, “There you go!”

He just looked at me like, “Seriously?” and then started laughing.

I know. Sometimes we act entirely inappropriate and I’m sure people who see this kind of behavior cannot believe we’re actually going to be raising another human being.

Anyhow, the appointment! In (some kind of) order!

Suffice it to say they were late getting us back into a room and then I had to sit on the table thing for almost half an hour without any pants on. After about 20 minutes, Tim – who, by the way, was fully clothed and sitting in a chair – was all, “I’m starting to get annoyed.”

I looked over at him like, “Really? You’re complaining? I’m the one sitting here bare assed.”

The doctor finally came in and apologized for the wait and then proceeded to violate me in ways that are nothing compared to what childbirth will be like.

The good news is that (if you’re a guy, you might want to stop reading now…or maybe we passed that point already with the no pants) my body is actually doing something and the menstrual-like crampy feeling I get off and on isn’t all for naught.

I am officially one – almost two – centimeters dilated and 75% effaced with a cervix that is barely a finger tip long.

And she felt his head (WEIRD!).

Even though I am aware that this really means nothing and I can go 42 weeks without any further progress, I’ll have you know I said that to the OB all, “I know it doesn’t mean anything…” and she was like, “No. This is actually really good for a first timer.”

So there.

I’m doing well….for a first timer.

And this first timer ended up super crampy and spotty after such an exam, I’ll have you know. But, whatever, it’s progress, right?

Right.

I told Tim, who was legit bouncing off the walls knowing that I only have nine more centimeters to go before the sprout can make his appearance, that this weekend must include a ridiculous amount of walking and lots of um…(earmuffs, family)…deed-doing.

We’re also cleaning the house from top to bottom and I had a wild hair and decided to wash all the bedsheets this morning.

I’m sure it’s not nesting.

More like pre-preparing.

As in after 40 weeks.

As in past due.

As in not exactly my ideal scenario.

If the sprout is part of this family, then he should already know that we don’t DO late.

We’re always early.

For us, being on time IS LATE.

I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up in thinking he will come early…so I’m trying not to. I think I already mentioned that Tim is convinced – convinced – that the sprout will come on February 9th. There is a full moon that day so….maybe?

Apparently there is some truth to the full moon theory. Something about its effect on water and how we’re mostly made up of water and if we’re pregnant and somewhat ready to have a baby the full moon can tip the balance in the baby birthing favor…the whole thing is really too complicated for my brain to ponder at the moment. But it goes something like that.

(He was also convinced that the sprout was a girl, so…)

Anyhow.

I’m officially 37 weeks today.

(!!!!!!!!!!)

37 weeks means full term which means I should really get off my duff and to make sure everything is ready for his arrival. We’re mostly there, really. There are just a few “minor” details – like a completed birth plan – that need to be finished.

Let’s be honest, the kid has a bed to sleep in and diaper rash cream so, really, we’re set.

Also? 37 weeks means that the sprout is free to make his appearance ANY. DAY. NOW.

(Did you hear that, o’ child of mine?)

I actually have an OB appointment today…and that’s probably where I am right. this. second.

Exciting, no?

Maybe they’ll tell me something promising? Fingers crossed!

Afterwards, on our way back home (so Tim can drop me off) we also have to stop by his work to get all of these biometric things done (read: draw blood) for our health insurance. Tim’s company does the benefit thing where you can earn money towards your insurance costs if your health meets certain criteria, like your cholesterol and blood pressure and weight….

Wait.

(ha…punny. It’s the little things, people)

Can we just stop there, on the weight part?

I really think there should be some kind of special BMI formula for pregnant women because COME ON!

It’s not my fault that now is when the biometrics have to be recorded and seriously? Hello? FULL TERM BABY. IN MY STOMACH.

I should get a pass on the BMI is all I’m saying.

If you don’t pass everything in the biometric screening you don’t earn all of the money and instead have to do a special program during the year to earn your dough, like a step program where you have to wear a pedometer and record a certain number of steps every day (like I’ll have time for that) or participate in Weight Watchers (is there a prize for dropping 20 pounds in 2 weeks?)…I’d rather just pass everything from the beginning, earn all my money and be done with it.

Sans baby?

Flying colors. That’s how I’d pass.

With baby?

Praying to pass everything.

Again, fingers crossed.

I’m only a few weeks away from jumping in without looking, both feet first, into the mom role.

Lots of you have kindly told me I’ll be a great mom…and I really appreciate your support and your belief in me.

I’m honestly having a hard time seeing myself *as* a mom. I mean, I’ve never been one before so I guess that’s natural to feel? I have no idea. I just can’t see myself as “mom.” I mean, I can and I do in some kind of future in my brain when I think about the future that I don’t feel like has happened yet – if that makes any sense at all.

I see Tim and me as these adorably cute, loving parents to well behaved kids, doing things together as a family.

Granted, I realize this “future” can be easily mistaken for fantasy and I might just end up with a hellion but, still. Somewhere ahead of where I am now I see myself as a mom.

I just can’t see it…now. I can’t see myself as this nurturing, loving person to a little baby. Not that I’d be some distant, crazy ass mother or anything. I’m just having a hard time looking at myself in the mirror that way. I’ve always kept most of my emotions inside.

I told Tim awhile ago that I never want to be like that with the sprout. I want emotions on the outside.

If you’re feeling them, express them, don’t ferret them away. That’s what I’ve always done…until recently. I’ve been trying to allow my emotions to come out more which, by the way, has been way easier thanks to the pregnancy hormones.

It has (finally) gotten to the point that I was all teary eyed over something ridiculous at dinner the other night and Tim was like, “Whoa…why are your eyes all watery?! What happened?!”

I told him I’m trying to be more in touch and in tune with my emotions.

And I am.

I know boys aren’t “supposed” to be emotional but I definitely want to make sure the sprout isn’t afraid to express what he is feeling. I know all too well how much a locked up emotional response can eat away at you from the inside out. It isn’t healthy.

I want to be more huggy and kissy and touchy-feely. I didn’t grow up in a family like that but I want to have one. Tim is better at those things than I am, as his family is like that. Hugs all around. All the time.

I’ve gotten better over time but I still have a way to go.

I want to be more expressive. More emotional. More present in the moment.

As much as I felt like naming the sprout was pressure…when I think about what kind of example I want to lead…wow. That kind of pressure is monumentally more challenging than a name.

I know I am not going to be the perfect mom…I’m not trying to be one. I just want to be a mom who is emotionally present for her child. One who participates in their life and shows them plenty of love and affection. One who is a teacher and a listener and a disciplinarian.

Tim has his own set of daddy responsibilities that I know he feels stressed about. He’s already expressed how he is supposed to KNOW. EVERYTHING. so the sprout thinks his daddy is the smartest person in the entire world.

He and I both know we aren’t going to KNOW EVERYTHING but I understand what he’s saying.

He wants to be a good daddy. And knowing how to do things is part of that for him like being emotionally present and open is for me.

On top of it all, I want to make sure I’m both a good wife and a good mother in supporting him raising a son. There will be lots of things that I need to step out of and allow Tim to take the lead. It only makes sense when it comes to men and boys.

I’m not a man. I don’t know what it is like to be a boy. I have to step back and allow the lessons to come from Tim.

There are so many things I don’t know and so many things I’ll learn as we go along with the sprout but right now, when I have a free moment to think about everything that is about to hit us square in the face?

I’m really excited but I’d be lying if I admit I was scared.

It is like the first day of school…only a million times more daunting.

Obviously, it’s a secret.

No one knows the name except Tim and me, though our hair person always tries to get it out of us EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. she sees Tim and me all, “Come on! What’s the name? Tell meeeeeeeee!” Or out of nowhere she’ll be like, “So, what’s the baby’s name, again?”

We tell her sprout.

Or baby Bold.

She tried to guess this past Saturday while Tim got the second to last haircut before the sprout arrives (EEEEEEEEE!!!!!!)

She wasn’t even close.

It’s stressful, giving someone a name they will have for the rest of their life. I mean, having the last name of “Bold” already causes some confusion. I guess people cannot fathom someone having that last name. It should be Gold. Or Bolden. Or Bolt.

I’ve gotten so used to saying my name this way without skipping a beat: “Jessica Bold. B-o-l-d as in dog.”

And people are usually still confused.

So, we obviously don’t want to name the sprout something crazy hard to pronounce because he’s already starting with a name disadvantage.

(Even though it’s a small sacrifice since Bold is the best last name in the universe)

I also have a sensitivity to having the sprout have the same name as a zillion other boys. My name isn’t as popular as it used to be but growing up I don’t think I ever had a single class where there wasn’t another Jessica. I always had to share.

I don’t want the sprout to have to share…as much.

Tim and I went over name after name after name and it took FOR-EVER to pick one that we both liked and were happy with.

After that, we didn’t think anymore of it.

Sprout had a name.

Check that off the list.

Then…THEN during the surprise work lunch shower thing (did I ever mention that? I know I said I made dessert for lunch for Tim’s work thing but I don’t remember if I said anything about the shower?….) that Tim’s direct reports did for me last week, one of his work peeps, out of nowhere, was all, “What if the baby comes out and doesn’t look like the name you picked?”

Begin massive tailspin in my brain of OMG. WHAT IF?! THIS CANNOT HAPPEN!

I told Tim we needed a backup name. ASAP.

Tim told me he was going to kill the person who put that fear into my brain.

Thanks to the possibility of the sprout looking nothing like the name we picked, I spent part of this past weekend going back over the name we had and searching for another one we would like just as much and would also work with the middle name.

I LOVE sprout’s middle name and definitely do not want to change it. Period.

Tim indulged my craziness with the name and suggested we look back at the original list we made and lo and behold!

A NAME!

A name that I um…have to admit that I actually like better than the one we had in the first place and double bonus! It matches perfectly with the middle name.

Tim liked this new name from the beginning but because I was like, “eh” he didn’t push it.

Now…we just have to decide on the spelling…but at least that has been narrowed down to a few options. I asked Tim after we had decided on the second name option (which has technically become the sprout’s name in my head because I like it somuchmore) if he was 100% ok with either name.

He said he was.

Crisis averted!

Random Sidebar: Why does my entire abdomen ache today? Like, the whole thing huuuurts. Constantly. Pair that with random Braxton Hicks and I’m not exactly feeling awesome. Someone, diagnose me.

Better Than Random Sidebar: GUESS WHO RECEIVED A FANTASTICAL SURPRISE LAST NIGHT?!

This girl.

The lovely and super talented Amy over at Hamlet’s Mistress made and sent us this handmade, adorable little baby blanket for the sprout. I mean, seriously? Amy? You’re awesome and as you already know, this was one of the most thoughtful things anyone has done for us. We’re so touched and blessed to have you as a bloggy friend!

Also?

Did I mention that WE LOVE IT.

It feels like yesterday was Friday…where did the rest of the weekend go?

One good thing about today, since Monday’s generally suck?

It’s the start of the Chinese New Year.

This means baby sprout can come any time he wants from today forward and he will definitely be a water dragon.

I told Tim on our super-long-for-my-pregnant-vajayjay walk (4.7 miles and I’m feeling every step today) yesterday that we’d probably end up calling him “dragon baby” when he’s acting ornery and difficult. Honestly, I have no idea why I’m so into this Chinese animal symbol thing. I’m a dog…just a plain, regular, run of the mill dog.

Tim?

He was born during a special year and is a metal dog.

Sprout is a water dragon.

And I’m a mutt.

I was born on Groundhog’s Day, so there, Chinese calendar. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Anyhow, none of this has anything to do with what I was going to write about. Shocker, right?

So, as THE DATE gets closer and closer, Tim and I have been having multiple conversations about us and our marriage and how do we even know a baby won’t absolutely destroy us? We grew up in completely different family situations. His parents are still married. Mine…well…not so much.

In my brain somewhere it feels like kids = divorce because that’s what happened to my parents. Granted, as Tim pointed out, it is highly doubtful they would have stayed together had kids come into the picture or not but living through a separation and then divorce when you’re in the middle of your formative years does have an impact on you, regardless, so it is hard for me to not be slightly hesitant and fearful of what the introduction of a child means.

Tim, on the other hand, sees children as little people who bring a marriage closer together, bonding two people to each other even more than they already were before a child ever came into the picture. I can absolutely see why he thinks this way. I mean, yes, he had his parents as an example of how to be in a marriage through good times and bad, rough patches and warts, but he also seems to be of a different breed of men.

I’m sure there are lots of men who are like Tim, I just didn’t know very many and definitely never dated any. I somehow ended up finding guy after guy who would slightly resemble my dad in some way, which was obviously the wrong way to go because, well, duh.

It makes me feel really awesome to know that the choice I ended up making with Tim broke my bad men habits. He is completely different from any other guy I ever dated or was in a serious relationship with. It took awhile to get used to the switch and sometimes I still catch myself trying to fall back into my old ways, assuming things and thinking the worst.

I think it has taken my being pregnant to accept that I absolutely must trust that Tim will be here, through thick and thin, good and bad, that no matter what he’ll stick it out. He is the most dedicated and committed man I’ve ever known. I mean, he’d do anything for me and I deep down, I know this. I know he’ll never turn his back and walk out the door…unless I was a complete asshat and did something terrible to him…which I’d never do. It seems like my example of non-committment from my parents made me want to try to be as committed and faithful and honest as possible in my own marriage. I couldn’t imagine it any other way.

It’s Tim and me, me and Tim. Forever.

You know, we changed the traditional wedding vows from ’til death do us part’ to ‘forever and eternity’ or something like that. We decided that the commitment didn’t end at death…it goes way deeper than that…anyway…

Baby sprout will result in Tim seeing me in an entirely different way…a way he or I will not fully understand until it happens. A way that will result in more love and admiration than he or I ever thought possible.

A baby will bring us closer, not draw us apart.

I have finally given myself over to this reality. I am finally allowing myself to believe that Tim isn’t my dad. Tim isn’t going to leave. He’s going to be the best father he can possibly be. He’s going to be happy for his kids, not jealous or mean or envious or resentful.

I know can depend on him, count on him, believe what he tells me and trust that he will always be there for me and for our children – no matter what.

And allowing myself to accept this?

The most incredible feeling in the world.

Remember the other day how I said how Tim and I were crazy Type A neat freaks?

Well, someone on Facebook commented on how we just need to wait…wait until the sprout starts getting his paws and prints on things that physics cannot even explain.

Excellent.

I’d like to think Tim and I will just laugh it off all, “I have no idea how he managed this…” but part of me knows that, at some point, we’re going to flip a whig (wig?) and go ape over something the sprout “permanently rearranges.”

It’s like the Type A won’t be able to contain itself any longer and we’ll fly off the handle.

I’m going to have to pray, daily..hourly, even, for both Tim and I to find the humor in everything revolving around utter chaos. If we cannot manage that, it’ll be a sad, lonely existence in a world of OMG. HE DID WHAT?!

I say this with hesitation because there has never been any humor in the poo assplosions we had from both Maddie and Lexi. Maybe they were trying to prepare us for the sprout but holy disgusting.

There was no laughing.

There was, in its place, lots of explicatives and yelling and gagging.

All of this came from Tim because that’s Tim’s job, now, since he knocked me up.

He’s the CEO of SHIT.

What in the hell are we going to do with a baby who has managed to smear poo from ass to elbow other than throw him in the tub and hose him down?

Suggestions are welcome.

Going back to work is not a want.

It’s a MUST.

It’s a requirement.

It isn’t optional.

I feel really, really lucky to be one of the few people who will have the chance to stay at home with the sprout. I don’t *have* to go back to work (not that I have a work to go back to at this point, anyway). I get to stay at home and be a mom. I know there are not many people who have that luxury and I feel exceptionally blessed to be among the few who get to do this.

Honestly, I have to thank Tim for working his ass off every single day for me to be able to stay home. Without his hard work…we wouldn’t be in this position. It *has* been an adjustment…getting used to one paycheck versus two…but things have been looking better and better for us and we’re learning how to pay more attention to what we’re spending. Before, we just bought whatever, whenever.

Since one paycheck versus two?

We’ve scaled back.

We have to plan big purchases.

We make a budget every month.

Obviously, we probably should have been doing this all along, but we didn’t, so beginning to do this was hard at first because it was completely different than what we had been used to doing.

Now that we’ve mostly figured it out, instead of me looking for a job, I will instead get to see the sprout all day, every day. I don’t have to leave him – and my trust – in the hands of a daycare five days a week. I may get tired of being “mom” sometimes but doesn’t everyone get tired of doing their job at one point or another? Just sayin. Carry on.

Some women are really keen on going back to work and can’t wait to do so…which is totally fine…for them. I made a decision…awhile ago…that I wasn’t going to be one to let my job define me. Granted, had I not gotten married and continued climbing the corporate ranks, I may have thought differently.

However, I did get married and I married someone who was already well on their way climbing the ladder, so to speak. I could have either chased the same thing or I could stop going down that path and give myself over to running the household, so to speak.

Plenty of people turn their noses up at this. Plenty of people think this is old school and ridiculous.

I don’t.

My mom stayed home to raise me. Tim’s mom did the same with him. We both see lots of benefits to this kind of arrangement, even though it will mean I won’t become Ms. Corporate America. When people ask me what I do, I’m going to have to say I’m a stay at home mom.

And I have to be ok with that. Proud that I can join the ranks of the “SAHM’s” and raise the youngin’s.

This idea used to bother me, a lot. I always felt like I needed something to define ME.

Until the end of college, it was basketball.

That’s how anyone knew me.

If you and I were friends back in the day, that’s who I was: Jessica, the basketball chick.

I was ok with that. I had an identity and people saw that as an accomplishment. It was acceptable. It was my life.

Now, though, staying at home to be a “mom” isn’t seen the same way as being a basketball star was, even by those mom’s who have kids and go to work, allthewhile wishing they could stay home.

Why is that?

Don’t throw stones. Don’t judge me.

I know I’m in a position to do something most people don’t and devoting yourself to staying at home and solely being a mom is such a privilege…such a unique opportunity that rarely seems to exist in our society anymore.

It’s my opportunity.

Don’t get me wrong, I still want to be my own person and figure something out to do on the side but my main goal, especially during the formative years, is to be the sprout’s mom.

What is so wrong with that?

THIS GIRL.

Side note: Dear Gerber, Please stop taping your clothes to everything. That’s so 90s. Or so not functional.

If you’ve never had a baby before, friendly little PSA:

There are more little plastic tag connectors and stickers and tags to clip off of a single onesie than there are a pair of panties and they’re the same size.

When you think you’ve finally gotten them all, you find another one, hidden under a sleeve or behind a snap. It’s like trying to break into Fort Knox.

Only softer.

And more maddening.

So, after hours of cutting tags and separating clothes into piles of “warm” and “cold” and “like colors” everything finally made it to the laundry room to be cleaned.

And this was the end result:

ONE DRAWER OF CLOTHES.

I feel like after four loads of laundry, I should have more than one drawer to show for my work.

Conclusion: baby laundry: small…yet deceptive.

Other than the endless loads of laundry, I spent the remainder of my day baking dessert for today. Tim is having some kind of offsite strategic planning meeting thing with his direct reports and invited me to join them for lunch.

I have no idea why…I guess so we could all see the pregnant lady at the zoo…

Anyhow, I said I would make something to bring because that’s what the wife of the boss does, right?

We bring yummy things.

(They’re building yet another house across the street from us and OMG I’M GOING TO KILL SOMEONE. How is anyone supposed to concentrate with the constant banging?!?!?!?!?!?!)

So I tried simple.

I tried cupcakes.

Made without the help of a box cupcakes.

And they failed.

Miserably.

I have no idea what happened. I followed the directions exactly…I didn’t even rush. I had a neat-o little container to carry them and I made the frosting from scratch, too and had it all planned out….

It was not meant to be, these cupcakes.

The baking disaster got to the point that I asked Tim to try them after he got home from work. I wanted him to be brutally honest because I kept trying them and thinking something just wasn’t right.

I tried them so much that I felt sick to my stomach and couldn’t even look at them without wanting to vomit.

He took one bite and was all, “No. Those…just…did you put any sugar in the actual cupcake?…”

I shook my head like, “Yes!!…I did everything the instructions said and they’re still awful! I can’t bring these! I can’t be known to everyone as the wife who makes things that we have to choke down!”

I finally decided that it wasn’t me.

It was the recipe.

And then, I begrudgingly decided to skip yet another workout and start all over this morning at 5:45am with a whole new plan: white chocolate and cranberry oatmeal cookies and cheesecake brownies…with the help of a brownie mix box.

(And I followed the brownie recipe exactly except the part where I used brownie mix instead of all of that other stuff they said to do to make brownies. That looked entirely too complicated for 5:45 in the morning)

Things are slightly messy and not very pretty but much better edible, now.

Hopefully everyone enjoys my blood, sweat and super sore back.

And I seriously don’t want to see another dessert in like…thirty minutes.

Even if Tim’s direct reports don’t like my baking (non)skills, I doubt anyone would give the side eye to the dessert made by a ginormous pregnant lady.

Oh, remember the drawer of clothes I just showed you a few minutes ago (pregnancy brain…it doesn’t always allow for a coherent flow…please forgive me)? This morning, as I made my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth, I caught Tim staring into it with this crazy cute look on his face while he was waiting for the iron to heat up. He looked up at me and was all, “We’re going to have a baby!…A baby who fits into these tiny clothes!”

He’s so ready for baby sprout. It’s freaking adorable.

Speaking of, I’m officially 36 weeks pregnant TODAY!

As if to celebrate the one month left milestone early, my body decided to give these random, shooting, feels-like-someone-is-shoving-an-ice-pick-into-my-cervix pains last night that came out of nowhere.

I was laying on the couch, minding my own business and then BAM!

PAIN.

I jumped all, “What the hell?! Someone slipped the baby a shiv!”

After I laid there, trying to relax through that bit of fun, I read up on Dr. Google and found that those pains can potentially be either the sprout sitting on my cervix or my cervix starting to dilate.

I’ll take the second option, the dilating one, even though a few of the pains hurt so much it brought tears to my eyes.

It’s like a precursor to the real thing.

And I want to do this birth naturally?….OMG.

It didn’t happen every week, but it may as well have because this is how I will always remember Friday nights after a long week at work.

Inevitably, Fridays meant neither of us had the desire or the energy to cook anything for dinner so, instead of slugging through the process, we’d usually meet somewhere near the house to have dinner.

More often than not, I’d call Tim to let him know I was leaving and then, because he worked two miles away from the house (I know. Not fair), he’d meet meet at a restaurant we agreed upon instead of us both going home first.

I’d be famished and ready to kill somebody by the time I made it there, thanks to the horrendously famous Friday traffic in Atlanta.

We used to make fun of ourselves, wondering if people thought we were cheating on our spouses because we met at the restaurant in different cars and both had wedding rings on…anyhow.

It was almost always Longhorn Steakhouse.

There weren’t many options out where we lived and this – along with Jim n Nicks and a pizza place called Amici’s – were the ones we seemed to agree on more often than not.

After sitting down, we’d both just expel everything that was driving us crazy about work.

We’d both feel better afterwards. Well, I felt better. I’m assuming Tim did, too.

Sometimes we would stop at this frozen yogurt place on the way home. It was kind of like a one-off Pink Berry type place. I don’t even remember the real name of it because I always called it “Confetti’s.” I have no idea why…just something I did once and it stuck.

Once we were home, we’d veg out on the couch and watch the TV shows we had recorded during the week that we didn’t have time to watch until we started falling asleep. Then we’d make our way up to bed.

This didn’t happen EVERY Friday…but that’s how I remember them. Exhausted. Mentally worn down. Vent session and salad at Longhorns.

It was Friday.

It was comforting.

Granted, at the time, I would have given anything to *not* have to feel that way at the end of every week. I wanted to be somewhere else. I’d moan and complain and beg to be anywhere else but where we lived. I didn’t want to feel so stressed out over my job.

Never in my wildest imagination did I think I’d MISS those Friday nights.

But I do.

Maybe it’s because I know Tim and I will never have a Friday night like that ever again, especially once the sprout is here.

It’s hard to know you are going to have to let go of what you’ve always had…knowing your life will never be the same again. It’s hard to prepare for that…to wrap your head around it…to accept it willingly and with a smile on your face.

I love Tim and me.

I’m going to miss those days where it was “just us.”

It’s really difficult to let go of that life…I can see it slowly slipping away as the days tick closer to the arrival of the sprout.

No longer will life be simple…just the two of us…

I know it will be all that and much, much more with the sprout. I know life will be more fulfilling and full of love with the sprout.

I know it will.

I’m just having a hard time seeing it right now.

We have checklists for everything.

We walk through every single detail of a trip or an outing….except when it comes to going on hikes…or finding somewhere to eat in a new place…but those are two entirely different stories…we’re flawed, people, and we aren’t afraid to admit it.

*However* we organize under our cabinets and sinks and like nice, neat little rows of cleaning supplies. Our garage is spotless. Everything has a place.

We shower. Daily.

We already have a folder for our 2012 taxes.

You get the point, right?

So, imagine how much our brains exploded when we started talking about the potential of having children. It wasn’t pretty.

Back when the conversation first came to light, we were still living in Georgia in the neighborhood that hated us.

I didn’t want to have kids growing up there.

No way in hell.

I was adamant that we would have to move first before any kind of procreation took place. So, Tim and I looked to move locally.

We couldn’t find a location suitable to either of us without making one person drive a ridiculous way to and from work every day.

(insert idea spiraling downward, totally out of control)

Then, Tim started looking for jobs elsewhere. As in not in Georgia.

Funny thing happened a few months…or maybe it was a year…it’s all fuzzy at this point…anyway, Tim ended up getting a job offer at a tee-tiny company based in New England. Except, we wouldn’t get to move to New England.

We had to move to some podunk town in New York that looked freakishly scary on google maps. Seriously, this place…utter desolation…and not in the good way. More like a nuclear bomb went off kind of way.

Long story short, Tim turned down the job.

Another job opportunity didn’t surface for YEARS after that. Tim and I both got promotions at our jobs before he received another offer, if that tells you anything.

Enter most recent job offer that landed us in Colorado.

NOW we could talk about having kids, again. What kid wouldn’t want to grow up in Colorado? What first time parent wouldn’t want to have a kid in Colorado?

Exactly.

It was perfect.

Except…it wasn’t.

Colorado is just a springboard to another job for Tim, so we won’t be here for long. By “long” I mean we could potentially be moving next year. We have no idea when it will happen or where we’ll end up. All we know is that WE’RE MOVING.

(I know I’ve said that before…probably more times than you care to hear…you’ll have to excuse my repeating myself. I can’t even remember the things I say anymore…besides, it has to be said because it makes the story FLOW, you see…)

So….woudn’t it make sense to wait it out…NOT have a child until this second move took place? That seemed more logical…maybe we should wait…maybe just a few more years…you see where this is going, don’t you?

Except, somewhere around eight or so months ago, during a dinner at an Italian restaurant where I’d had one too many glasses of wine, I told Tim, “Yes. Absolutely! I’m ready. Let’s try to have kids.”

What I meant was that I wanted to get down to my goal weight and cut out all kinds of food before we started trying.

What Tim heard was, “Let’s get it on!“

Obviously, the latter happened.

There really is no self control with wine.

Then, a few weeks later I get the three big fat positives on three different brands of pregnancy tests.

And here we are.

Baby sprout on the way.

Tim and I are both convinced that if that conversation had never happened and the (earmuffs, family) condomless weekend never occurred and the sperm had not found the egg on the first shot, literally, baby sprout wouldn’t have…happened. Probably ever. We would have always come up with some reason or excuse or something as to why we should WAIT.

I know everyone says there is never a perfect time to have a child, but Tim and I would have tried like hell to find one.

Whether we ever did or not is debatable. Obviously.

There is no moral to the story other than to say: If you say you’re ready to have kids, you better be absolutely positive you’re ready RIGHT NOW.