Baby procrastination.

4 1/2 years ago I was ready. The nursery was painted, decorated, and stocked up at least six weeks before Jack's arrival. Clothes were prewashed and sorted, just awaiting a warm, squirmy body to fill them. The names were narrowed down to about three. I would sit on the couch just wishing for a contraction. The problem was, Jack was procrastinating. He had to be forced out one week after his due date.

Let's contrast this with this time around. This baby appears to be pretty on top of things. Expected due date is June 15th. Yesterday the doctor reported that the baby seems to be between 7 and 7.5 pounds, I'm dilated to a three, thin and stretchy (eew!), and as he was reporting this, the baby--as if on cue--popped its head squarely and securely into "position." He told me to pack my hospital bags, nix any Memorial Day travel plans, and plan on this baby arriving before the due date (with the caveat that "stranger things have happened..." of course).

Don't get me wrong, I really want to have this baby ASAP. But this time, I am the one procrastinating. I haven't cleaned up in preparation for the great three-way room swap yet. I just barely located some receiving blankets and burp cloths. I don't even have a list of things to pack for the hospital. And as for names? There's nothing I'm wild about. It doesn't help that Allan will only think about boy names and I will only think about girl names. And any name I've gotten attached to in the last nine months now makes me want to throw up.

This whole not finding out the sex of the baby deal? I don't recommend it. At least if you're anything like I am. I think it is 80% of the reason that I'd rather look at post-baby clothes for me than set up a place to sleep for him/her.

Now it's time for the official predictions. Let me know your predictions for:

1. Gender

2. Weight (for some perspective, Jack was 8#7oz and a week late. I've gained exactly the same amount of weight this time around, but am more belly and less swollen overall)

3. Birthday

4. My mental health one month from now

The winner wins pride. And we're so desperate for names, maybe we'll name the baby after you.

Allan's just afraid to have a daughter who looks like me.

Taking off.

After recovering from fits of laughter, I asked Jack what he was doing. He replied, "Going into space."

There's something almost Norman Rockwell about his look in this photo.

Count myself a queen of infinite space--were it not that I have bad dreams.

If you are familiar with my personality, you can understand why last night's dream was a doozy.

I dreamed that I had a 30-page final paper on W. Somerset Maugham's Of Human Bondage to finish up by Friday (topic: the archetypal anti-hero). I hadn't even started reading the book. I also had a calculus final to study for (never my strong suit). But the kicker was a final for a course that had slipped my mind. Apparently, at the beginning of the semester I enrolled in a World Civilization course but completely forgot to attend class after the first week.

I woke up in a panic and totally sick to my stomach...

Then I thought, "Oh, I'm so glad I don't have that stress in my life anymore. My only stressful activity today is trying to roll tonight's enchiladas without cracking the corn tortillas."

My thoughts aren't so lucid in the wee hours of the morn.

Reality hit at about 9AM. I have a lot of things to stress about. For instance, in nine weeks or less I am going to be in labor. I am scared. Like so scared, Allan may have to haul me out of the car Shamu-style once we arrive at the hospital. If we make it to the hospital, that is. My doctor is an hour away. What if I have my baby on Highway 65? I don't want to give birth in the middle of an oil field...

Stress isn't good for the baby. Maybe I should pull Of Human Bondage off the bookshelf and tackle that 30-page paper. Just for fun.

Update: As I've thought more about this, I've realized that as I've matured (or so I would like to think) my stress is not so much the result of deadlines but consists of overarching themes. Instead of dreading an upcoming week of finals, for instance, I'm stressed about larger things: parenthood, finances, church callings, etc. Maybe it's all part of seeing the larger picture...or of being a stay-at-home mom.

By the way, 5 of the 18 corn tortillas cracked. It didn't cause much stress, however.

Photographic proof.

For the concerned:

There is still a baby in there. And it's not pint-sized.