Meet Nora.

Still Incubating.

In case you feel like the fact that my voicemail box being full is an indication that I gave birth, it is not.

This babe is still high up in my rib cage and delighted to be there.

I am glad that he or she enjoys being in the womb and that I provided a comfy environment for all of these months. But, my mind is rapidly turning into Swiss cheese and I have no desire to work or do a thing. I should really work up until delivery and am feeling stressed that I cannot even put words together any more.

At least the appearance of a babe would let me off the hook for work.

Still Pregnant.

The due date came and went with just a solo trip to the movies. No action to really speak of.

I don't have an intuition as to when this babe will come. I know some mamas are perhaps more in touch with their baby within, but I just don't know his or her time schedule. It has yet to be revealed.

Last time, I at least got to experience three nights of labor starting on my "due date." This time, really nothing. And more nothing.

I have felt a few contractions, but when I grin in response, they dissipate.

I know that it could all start at any moment and the waiting game will have been in vain. I just hope I deliver before February is up.

Poop in the Potty.

Dave just trounced down the stairs triumphantly holding the Baby Bjorn potty above his head. He nodded with a glint in his eye.

"Did he just poop in the potty?" I asked.

No words. Just a grin.

"Really? He pooped in the potty? What happened?" I am not sure why I asked that last question. Dave launched into a story that started with "practice grunts" and ended with a "good sized poop."

"And you brought the potty down so I could inspect the poop?"

He looked a bit uncomfortable. A look passed across his face as if it was the first time he realized that this might be a bit strange. In my pregnant state, I can barely stay in the room if their is a trace of toot. Not that if I wasn't pregnant, I would want to pass judgment on the scat. He quickly retreated into the kitchen with the pooped in potty.

The kitchen?

I eventually followed to size up the scene. I found Dave tying up the poop in a Target bag and setting it in our kitchen trash.

"Um...you could have just dumped it into the toilet."

Another sheepish look crossed his face. "I didn't think of that."

Gender Predictions: State 'Em.

Barring a Middlesex incident, we are days away (or optimistically hours away???) from welcoming a baby girl or boy. Dave is feeling girl. I am feeling boy. Now is your chance to record your prediction...you will be reserving your right to say, "I knew it!"

I Heart Online Grocery Shopping.

I took the leap into the wonderful world of online grocery shopping.

Yesterday, I laid on the couch with a bunch of cookbooks and devised a shopping list. Today, the CobornsDelivers service dropped off all of our desired goods in tubs with dry ice to keep the groceries cold until I got home. The ice cream was still so frozen that it was hard to get my spoon into it!

I even used a promo code to get 25 bucks off!

I Still Love My Husband.

"Hi, sweetheart. I know that you have the stomach flu, but Spence and I are stranded in Longfellow Park. I know it is ridiculous...I mean we are just two blocks away, but can you pick us up?"

That was the first message in a string of messages left on Saturday. After a mama-son bagel extravaganza, we decided to take advantage of the balmy 38 degree weather and take a stroll on over to the park. The first half a block went off without a hitch. We were holding hands and avoiding the mushy-mushy parts.

Then we turned the corner. And the sidewalks had turned into sheets of ice. Spence fell on his bottom and scooted a bit on the ice. I smiled and tried to make it a game. A smarter mother might have taken note of the conditions, remembered she was 9 months pregnant, and turned around. Not me. We persevered.

"Dave, you need to wake up and come get us. I am in a lot of pain here. Things are not going well." Second message.

A half of a block later, Spence was demanding to be carried. I picked him up and started to maneuver on the icy sidewalks. "Park, park, park," Spence chanted. My right foot slid precariously, but we---really "I"--carried (him) on. My back started to spasm and I had an uncomfortable feeling in my belly, but I chose my favorite coping strategy. Denial.

"I know that your phone can't possibly be on silent. I mean, I am in striking distance of delivery..." Message 3.

We made it to the park. Spence delightfully walked on the swinging suspension bridge and climbed up to the slide and slid all the way down. He radiated with happiness. My mind started to wonder if these were Braxton-Hicks contractions or the real deal.

"Spence, should we walk back home and find papa? We can walk through the mushy-mushy!" His brow furrowed. He shook his head. He punctuated it with a "No!" to make sure he was clearly being heard. We headed over to the swings.

Message 4 really shouldn't be archived. There were a lot of words that started with "f" and "a."

My back threatened to paralyze the lower half of my body. I picked Spence up and told him that we had to go find papa. Spence started to kick and scream. Tears rolled down his rosy cheeks. "No...no...no...no!" He kicked all the way home. He ripped the button off my last pair of maternity pants that still feel comfortable.

We made it home and woke up my sleeping husband. I crawled into bed and tried to disown the lower half of my body. The contractions and vomiting came later. Lasted all night.

Needless to say, Dave has made sure his phone is permanently on loud and vibrate and even dances an Irish jig.

and March...

After a quick (and perhaps deflating) look at the calendar, I realized that the birth window actually extends into March. We could be looking at two March babes after all.