It's the Final Countdown!

Still no Babygirl, but we are in the final countdown. If she is not here by next Friday under her own power, I will be induced. I am not completely sure if that means she will be here over the weekend, or if they will wait a few more days to see if she shakes loose, but the hope is by the 4th of July (we have patriotic onesies to wear, hot dogs to eat, fireworks to set off in the backyard in a safely predesignated area outside of city limits).  My mother hopes she is not born on Wednesday or Saturday, since one of those days, according to the old poem, makes children full of woe, and the other day means they work hard for a living. Of course, one of the other days they have far to go, not sure about that one. Left-brain keeps asking if I am OK; he stayed home from the racetrack on Saturday night because I was feeling a little wonky, it was kinda funny. His new favorite song is a romantic Keith Urban song, and he started calling me "Mama." I guess it hit him by the end of next week, he could be a dad.  Her room is pretty much together, I just have to put away the small things and put her towel and diaper baskets in their right places. OMG, I am in love with newborn diapers--they fit in the palm of my hand. Between those and little socks, I don't know what to make of them.  I am making a person who they fit!  That is amazing to me.  Of course, I got in another argument with my OB on Friday night; it's been 3 weeks, and he can't yell at me at appointments because I don't go to those by myself anymore, so it was about time. I won't even bother to write about it here, but it was, by and large, the stupidest non-work-related phone call I have ever had to deal with. I just have to remind myself 2 more weeks, and I can go to anyone for post-partum treatment. Anyway . . . 

Speaking of fireworks, we were in Target on Saturday. I am still allowed to go places, I just can not take myself there. But I needed a present for DN's birthday, and a bag for Left-brain's Father's Day gift (he is a little hinky on whether or not he technically IS a father at this point. I keep reminding him that our child is not floating out in the ether, waiting to be delivered on a cloud, she is here on the planet, just because he can't see her features, she is here, but, maybe that stems from the fact that the dad doesn't really have the day-to-day interaction with her that I do. I am sure he would not enjoy being head-butted in the bladder, LOL), so we went.  Now, I live in a county where fireworks are legal, just not in town.  It took some getting used to to see the firework stands.  I don't even know if you can get the hardcore stuff, I think you have to go up to Pennsylvania to get the kind of fireworks that have inspired my husband to utter such profound things as, "I don't know what this does. Let's light it and see."  and sends the dogs into their kennels, but you can get some stuff. At the local Target, as well as in your finer parking lots.  Apparently, there are a great many stupid people in Metro Crazyville, or at least a lot with daring-do, because . . . on the front of the firework display at the Target, there is a sign that says "Fireworks . . . no smoking."  I appreciate the obvious purpose of this, but, really . . . is there a danger that people will smoke in front of the display in the store?  When is the last time you saw someone light a cigarette in Target?  Or in any store or, heck, inside for that matter. The last time I can confidently say that yes, people were smoking inside anywhere in the DC/Metro area was in the casino at Charles Town racetrack in 2006. And that was a casino. Not Target.   And I certainly hope the average firework consumer wouldn't need a warning that open flame around the firework display is not a good idea.  True, I did have to explain to my niece and nephews that the reason Pop-its work is that they have gunpowder (I guess that's what it is, they're kids, it satisfied them) in them, but they're kids, and that got superceded by "OK, we do not throw those at your brother, sister, Aunt Rachel." Now I can see a sign that says "Don't point these at other people," but the smoking warning? A little wierd. A little overkill, and yes, I realize it wouldn't be there unless someone smoked in front of the firework display . . .

My stitching mojo is gone. I tried to work on In the Garden on Saturday.  It tired me out, so I didn't get far. I am going to try to get a little work done on it this evening.

And yesterday we had a near disaster.  Beazer keeps his binky outside the office, where all my stitching stuff is piled. I bought "unbreakable" boxes to put all that stuff in.  I guess I should have given Left-brain a lesson in how to stack boxes, but I assumed he knew how to do it. Anyway, unbreakable does not mean unbendable, because he apparently put a heavy box on top of one of them that did not have contents to support the weight, because the lower box bent, the stack tipped over and spilled boxes all over the office floor, out in the hall. My finishing box, and the box holding my Hummingbird Trellis afghan went right where Beazer usually lays.  Thank God he was in our room, pestering Left-brain, because, in all seriousness, he could have been hurt. Badly. And that would have killed me. He was, of course, mildly annoyed that anything got on his binky, when it's all you have, you value it well beyond reason.  Fortunately, nothing got broken, the box was able to be popped back into shape, and I gave Left-brain a quick lesson in now to stack properly.  The heavy stuff is on the bottom now.  Our dog is safe, a few more wrinkles than on Saturday, and I have a few more gray hairs. But that's OK.  He looks cute with w'inkles, and I will be covering them grays!