So this inclement weather that we're having, right when I'm supposed to drop a baby? They keep saying it's going to get better...tomorrow. They've said this for three days now, and each day the roads are worse than the day before. The streets are solid ice now. I mean completely solid ice. Last night we could look out the window and the street lights were flickering off of everything because it had rained and frozen everything to a high-gloss sheen again. Our car is covered in a half inch of sheet ice. The snow on the ground is so crunchy that my husband can stand on it without breaking through.
We keep telling the boy that today is not the day, hold out until at least tomorrow, but we're not sure if he even speaks English yet so we don't know if he's getting the message. As a little more cosmic humor, there are signs that he could be showing up at any time.
As a result, we're watching the news with special attention today, and hoping that the little tot isn't as rebellious and contrary by nature as his folks are. We would really hate to have to prove exactly how indomitable the human spirit can be by having to either climb up the side of a mountain to the hospital with ice cleats, or delivering the baby here. You know the shit is bad when I say to my incredibly sweet and fearless husband, "If it comes down to it, I believe that you can deliver this baby just fine."
So I sit, going stir crazy, keeping my legs crossed, hoping that a bizarro warm front moves in, and that Tiny doesn't decide that being a drama queen is the way to be by showing up today.
Hold out for your Granddaddies' birthdays, okay? It's only one more day...