To-Do: Take a Breath

I finished my last day of work today, two weeks before our due date, eleven days before our scheduled C-section, and eight days before Christmas Eve.  It sounds like I have plenty of time, but none-the-less I feel as if I'm racing the gestational clock.  Ideally I'd like to have Christmas at home.  If that's not possible, I'd love to at least have all of the Christmas presents wrapped.  If that's not possible, I'd like to at least sort them so Michael knows what goes to who.  If that's not possible, well, at least I have finished my shopping. 

And if I hadn't, it would be fine.  Just as it will be fine if I don't get around to cleaning every room in the house, reorganizing my spices and tupperware, and re-finishing a mudroom shelf.  But it would be ideal to get some more things crossed off of my list I mean lists.  There's one in my head, three in my Blackberry, two magnetic lists hanging on the side of the fridge, and post-its imitating a colorful blizzard throughout the house.  I'm even multi-tasking in conversation.  In saying goodnight to Michael this evening, I reminded him that I washed the baby swing, carseat covering, and bouncy seat cover in Dreft and they're all ready to be pulled out of the dryer.  He nodded, checking the sports headlines on his phone.

"We traded Michael Cuddyer," he announced with a frown.

"No!" I protested.

"I know, he was my favorite."

"Seriously, what a bummer.  And tomorrow I can wash some newborn outfits in Dreft too."

Right now an Elmo song is running through my head, which has been creeping up in all of its red furry cheerfulness to my consciousness all the more these days.  The lyrics go something like, "Take a breath, take a breath, you can move your teeth to chew but your face is turning blue, get some air inside of you and take a breath..."  How applicable.  What a smart little monster.  Sigh.

Oliver has a baby doll that he loves to play with, and at times he'll push it around in its little plastic stroller or offer her a bottle.  It's very sweet to see him role play, in light of his own preparation for the addition to our family.  But of note, he also loves his tools.  He knows his wrenches from his hammers and screwdrivers, and we're teaching him the difference between a Philips and a flathead (primarily so he can change the batteries in his toys for himself).  One day, Michael and I heard a dull, hollow thud-thud-thud coming from the living room.  We walked in and found Oliver with his red plastic hammer wailing on the baby doll's head.  He looked at us proudly and announced, "I hitted the baby!"

To do:  remove all plastic tools from the house before the baby comes home.