Tomorrow could be D Day. Baby no-name {who am I kidding, he has a name, we are just torturing everyone!} could be making his arrival tomorrow evening {maybe Friday}. The past 3 days we’ve been trying to get prepared. After all, we weren’t expecting this for another week and a half.

I’ve given up. I resigned on the notion that we will be ready. The house won’t be clean before I leave in the morning {the hubster can take care of it while I’m gone}. The laundry won’t be done {again, the hubster can take care of that}. The nursery won’t even be all ready {see previous statement}.

And that’s fine.

Oh, who am I kidding. I talk a pretty good game.

I am not ready. I wouldn’t be ready if I had another 9 months to prepare. Are we ever ready? Are we ever fully prepared? We would be fooling ourselves if we thought we would be.

There are a few things that I am ready for.

I am ready to meet my baby boy.

I am ready to see E with his new brother.

I am ready to be done being pregnant.

I am ready to start our journey as a family of four.

Tomorrow is out of my hands. The doctors, baby boy, and my body will determine what happens. And honestly, I am fine with that. I have to be. I can’t control anything anymore.

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