Dear Sweet-Child-Who-Is-Still-In-My-Womb-8-Days-After-Its-Official-Due-Date,

Firstly, I don’t blame you. I blame my body and its inability to realize that preganacy actually has an end point. It did the same thing with your sister who, after 42 weeks and one day finally granted her release from the warm confines of my uterus (but not without some hormonal enticement). Honestly, I just can’t figure out why my body isn’t leaping at the chance to regain shape, circulation and the ability to go a 24 hour period without getting a new stretch mark.

With that said, I need to address some logistical issues with you. You see, we have tickets to see Wait Wait… Don’t Tell Me this Thursday and Easter Sunday is quickly approaching. Not only is your Grandma Dani here, but your Grandpa Bill and Grandma Judy arrived on Saturday. Additionally, your Aunt Celene and Uncle Thad are due for arrival this coming Saturday. So, if you could work it out with my body to either come right now, or sometime after Thursday, that would be great. Oh, and your dad is off work for the next two weeks also. But no pressure.

In the meantime, we are busy trying to keep your sister from becoming a 2-year-old dictator (considering there exists statutory prohibition in regards to children going to day care when grandparents are present). Getting her to stick to any kind of a schedule has been tenuous, at best. I am trying to think of, and address, every possible undone project or purchase that will require an act of congress to complete once you are born. I have also managed to spend the better part of the last week getting my ass kicked at Scrabble by your Grandma Dani. Oh, and speaking of your Grandma Dani – if she tells me I have “dropped” one more time I am going to kick her in the groin.

Today I go in for an ultrasound to make sure your swimming pool of amniotic fluid is still at reasonable levels, and then we will go in for a non-stress test wherein they will hook me up to the contraction-o-meter and the heart-rate monitor to make sure my body isn’t holding you in there against your will. For all I know you and my body have some agreement worked out wherein you have agreed to just chill out as long as necessary. I hate to break it to you, but ultimately, you are going to have to come out.

So, little one, all I can say is this: At most, you have a week. Live it up while you can, because a world of Walston awaits you.

Love,
Mama