Last night we went to a movie. An only okay movie ("21", a movie that was a good idea, but the middle goes on foreeeeeeeever), but it was a movie and we had soda and popcorn and Milk Duds.
I was sitting near the exit waiting for Andrew to go get the car (priveleges of swollen ankles) when a dude dressed like Jimi Hendrix (of course!) walks by.
"Any day now?" he asks me as he walks by.
I actually had to think for a moment for what the hell he was talking about. (I never said I was bright. Cute, but not bright.) Then I laughed. "Yes. Yes! In fact, Tuesday!"
It's crazy to say that, FYI. I'm not due next week, next month, or "soon", but in, like, hours. (Forty six of them, by the way, if anyone is counting.) The privelege of a scheduled C-section*.
I woke up this morning, slowly (okay, fine, I woke up with the burning need to pee as a result of a nine plus pound infant plus assorted biological accountrements sitting on my bladder, but let's run with my fairy tale here, okay?) and realized--I have one more of these left. I have one more morning where I have no pressing need to wake up at crack-of-my-ass early in the morning.
Then I have to be at the hospital at 5:30 and everything changes.
*Of course, all statements along these lines are accompanied by an understood "...y'know, assuming it's not earlier"