This is this third week in a row that the waiting room has been...well...tame. If last week I was left concocting elaborate stories to make the waiting room residents more exciting, this week I didn't even have material to work with. There were literally just two women in the waiting room when I arrived - two! - and both of them were, for lack of a better word, boring. Both looked totally cool with being where they were, neither seemed distressed, stressed, or even vaguely perturbed. What the hell is up with THAT? Did this office manage to streamline their scheduling so that no one is left sitting abandoned for hours on end anymore? Have they started scheduling the exciting and crazy folks for concentrated bursts of time in the middle of the day so that non-smoking full-time workers aren't impacted by them? I'm honestly almost disappointed.
This week has been kind of weird for a number of reasons, not least of which being the fact that I have realized that the reality of you showing up really hasn't hit me yet. I know...we're just past the eight month mark (wow), so clearly you aren't new news. Yet you are. I look down and watch you wriggling around; I can see the bump of a foot or hand or head or something, and feel you pushing against every angle of every inch of space you have to work with, and it still only barely resonates that there is a little human being in there. According to today's ultrasound, you're about five pounds now, which is practically the same size your Dad was when he was born, so clearly you could be a little human being out here pretty soon without anything being too dicey. I think I've started to waddle, though that's mostly due to horrendous pain in my hip joints and not because you're conspicuously in the way of me walking. The reality of this situation should really hit me any minute now...or now...or now...
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