There’s a major difference in co-workers’ reactions, now that we’re in the last week, when they ask “When is your due date again?” and I answer “Wednesday” and not, “The 23rd.” Wednesday is next week. It would be too late, today, to schedule a meeting on Wednesday. Wednesday is three business days from now. I could get back to someone “on Wednesday,” and they wouldn’t feel like I was putting them off for too long. Wednesday is so much sooner than, “the 23rd.”
If I make to the other side of the weekend still hauling Vegas around in my fleshy watermelon-sized fanny pack, Monday will be my last day, technically, in the office before I’ll start “working from home.” Which really means, “checking my work email in my gym shorts.” I’ll be delighted to finally rid myself of the constant drive-by questioning. Yes, we’re ready, and excited. No, I’m not eating eggplant yet. Yes, we know the first two weeks will be hard. Yes, being a sleepless zombie at home with a screaming infant will always be better than being at work on a slow day. Hell, labor seems like a real treat compared to some meetings I have to attend. The new parents are SO VERY EXCITED for us. The parents of two or more kids, older in the age range, warn us of the AWFULNESS that is coming. Sleep now when you can! Run for your liiiiivvveeessss!
Is having a baby like getting a new laptop? For the first few years, when it’s the newest model, has the most memory and hard drive, it’s fucking awesome. But as soon as it gets all scratched up, covered in coffee spills, starts crashing, and everything else on the market is so much better, you think it’s the biggest piece of shit around, so you feel compelled to tell people not to ever buy one? Or at least, compelled to warn them that it’ll eventually suck?
Regardless, Wednesday is coming. My sister, via text, has picked the 22nd as the day. Vegas’ going home outfit has been identified and laundered, and per some nutty suggestion on the internet, we’re sleeping with it in the bed with us so that it will pick up our “scent” so that the dog (yes, the dog) will recognize the baby as one of us when we bring him home. Us, as in, a pack member. We’re those people.