I am officially on maternity leave. Which is a really good thing because I don't think I could handle another meeting with my advisor J where I was having Braxton Hicks contractions (which are not supposed to hurt but they do!!) the whole time. (Me: "If you plot integral scale versus roughness length you can see that---oh shit hold on a second--phew ok, so you can see that the dependence of integral scale on roughness is not what we expected.") So I am now at the coffee shop enjoying a turkey and cheese sandwich on toast and listening to my iPod and writing to you with NO GUILT FOR ONCE. Now what should I do with the last thirty or so hours of life-as-I-know-it?
I just went and bought a book and I plan on reading most of it this afternoon and this evening (while I am hiding my no-candy-having self from the neighborhood children).
I will probably also spend some time staring at Rossby and letting him sleep on my lap and memorizing his smell and how soft his head is. I hate that he is going to be sad and jealous for a while.
I need to go to Walmart/newTarget and buy a giant pair of pajama pants for the hospital stay. Originally I was going to wear just hospital gowns but many of my professors and other people I don't want looking at my bare butt have said they're going to come visit us and I don't want to be confined to my bed. And it's November. Not the right weather for a cotton nightgown with no back. Maybe I'll also get some lip gloss and mascara (for the few eyelashes I have left--little known pregnancy symptom) so I don't frighten my visitors/look haunted in our first family pictures. Ooh and need to buy ponytail machines (hair ties).
I should pack the hospital bag. I have tempted fate long enough.
If I still have time I'm going to take care of a few things I've always wanted to do but won't have time for right after Charlie is born. Like learn Hebrew, perform in a rock opera, meet Condoleeza Rice, and learn to swing dance (or maybe I should just take care of the giant mystery stain on the family room carpet so my parents don't think I live in filth. Actually there are a number of things I could do that fall into the category of "leading people to believe I don't live in filth" like vacuuming the cobwebs in the corners and de-funking the dishwasher, but it's MY 30 hours! Mine!!).
OK, I should go ahead and post this so A doesn't think I've gone into labor. And I should get started on my list (I hear Hebrew is quite a complicated language). See you tomorrow. Unless I'm at the hospital. And in that case check back for pictures.