Bring it, U.B.

I've finally reached that simultaneously blessed and obnoxious point in my pregnancy. I am ready for U.B. to come.

Physically ready? Perhaps not -- Isaac is still not sleeping through the night; U.B.'s bed is in pieces and lacks a mattress; we are still not entirely sure what we are doing for the whole Isaac-sitting during labor; we have decided that our chosen name bites a big one and are back to square one with baby-no-name.

But all that doesn't matter, because I am fired up and emotionally ready to receive a new tiny boy, and then to stand on one leg and juggle two small boys at the same time once we get him home. There are several factors that have helped me to reach this point:

*I am big. And uncomfortable. U.B.'s very favorite position is with his feet pushing my right ribs outward. I can't sit upright for extended periods of time.
Because of the bigness/uncomfortableness, there is no sleeping for me at all now, what with the peeing and the tossing and turning and the original Boy O'Neal and his nocturnal habits. So really, what's one more factor to add to the not-sleeping mix?

*I broke down and spent almost all of my Christmas money on brand-new duds for U.B. Somehow I just could not make peace that this new boy of mine should have to live his life entirely in hand-me-downs from Isaac. Luckily for me, I had my shopping therapy at a Carter's store with Grandma Ross along, and she has apparently instituted a kind of baby-clothes-fund matching program. You know those employer matching programs or whathaveyou where you contribute X dollars and then the employer, out of the goodness of his/her/its heart, contributes another X dollars towards the same cause? Yeah, it's like that. So, in combination with the three-day wardrobe U.B. received from his Aunt Robin, he's got more onesies, more rompers, more pants, hats, socks. He deserves his own stuff every once in awhile, don't you think? And having brand-new baby clothes does makes having a brand-new baby seem ever so much more real.

*The name-that-was-not-to-be helped, too. Seeing that Dada and I could come together in that fashion, with our long and stringent name requirements, gives me hope that my second-born might have a name. Before he goes to college.

*Venting about the hospital where U.B. will be making his arrival also helped. Even better was the reaction of the lovely Carolyn, who emailed me with a personal testimonial from her sister-in-law, who had both of her babies at this same facility, helping me to know not only that this hospital really does deliver babies, but also that it doesn't double as a crackhouse.

*Isaac can't seem to get enough of taking care of his stuffed animals, or even cat-brother for that matter, and tries to feed them, diaper them, and even suggest that they go poop on his potty on a daily basis. Obviously this will translate well as I embark on my plan to mold him into my perfect little helper.

So. Six more weeks. Did you know his lungs are basically fully developed now? If he was born now, a few weeks premature, he has a greater than 99% chance of making it and being a completely normal and healthy dude. As much as I would like the right side of my ribcage to return to its normal shape, though, I encourage him to come out when he's ready, knowing that his mom is ready for him and whatever he's dishing out.