Thirty-Five Weeks

(Photo coming soon. Maybe.)

Did you read that, people? It says, THIRTY-FIVE WEEKS! In a mere fortnight this baby will be officially full-term and I can start pestering my OB to strip my membranes and give me just a wee little nip of Pitocin to get this party started!

On the flip side of my joyous revelation that I am 7/8ths done with this seemingly neverending pregnancy (all pregnancies are neverending!) is my sudden and complete panic over all the preparations loitering on the to-do list and, more pressingly, all the things about raising a newborn that I TOTALLY DO NOT REMEMBER. How to wrap a Moby around my torso... How to swaddle the baby... How to attach the infant car seat... How to angle my nipples so that when the baby latches on it doesn't feel like a barracuda is trying to kill me... How to know when to go to the hospital on the off chance my labor starts spontaneously this time... How to use the breast pump... How to cut out the 2am night feeding... How to dress in such a way that those leaky-breast pad thingies aren't visible through my shirt... How to sterilize a pacifier with a stuffed animal attached to it... How to care for a tender, war-torn vagina... How to convince my husband to cook all my favorite foods—including the ones he doesn't like... How to be the mama to a newborn and still retain a smidgen of my dignity and my identity...

Not to mention all the things I haven't forgotten but simply have not yet learned, such as how to care for a newborn and a toddler at the same time without causing any temper tantrums. Or upsetting the toddler.

PAN. ICK!

Last night I was wide awake for hours after my standard 9pm pregnancy bedtime, frantically scouring the internet for an affordable (very) part-time nanny who can cook, clean, take excellent care of a toddler and a newborn, not drive my husband or me crazy on the days we need to work from home, not have to shift her hours every time a new quarter happens to start at one of the local colleges yet be willing to work totally different days of the week this fall when the two-year-old's preschool schedule shifts from Tuesdays and Thursdays to Monday, Wednesday, Friday. So far all I've gotten is one "video resume" spammy response to my Craigslist ad from a person who is "Very excited about this opportunity."

Oh, I'm excited, too, spammer. So excited I could pee my pants.