waiting, waiting, waiting

As it draws ever nearer to the weekend, it becomes less and less likely that Nate will be here to join in the baby shower festivities. (good thing, cuz it's no boys allowed!) Honestly I feel like just before baby Madilyn was born, Nate was in a crazy race with her to be born. And once he realized he couldn't win, he settled back in and decided to wait a while. This week's doctor's appointment was slightly discouraging. Not because I haven't made any progress since last week (curse you, you lazy cervix!) but because last week the PA gave a misleading assessment. I thought I was at 2cm, but it turns out, it's just between 1 and 2, maybe closer....but Dr. Hunt says about 1 1/2...or a 1+. I realize this may be more information some need to know, my husband, for instance is slightly uncomfortable not only knowing that, but also with knowing how the doctor knows it. But hey, you made a choice today. I didn't hold a gun to anybody's head, if you're reading this, it's of your own free will and choice! Anyway, I'm still sitting around, waiting to meet my son...every day having a little more free time to remember a little more clearly events of 4 1/2 years ago, and how much fun labor is. I just keep telling myself that this time will be better. After all, odds are that Danny won't be in jail; he won't be leaving me between contractions for a smoke break; I won't have a crazy lady deciding that despite having regularly spaced contractions every 3 min I should be taking a shower, not going to the hospital; I will deliver within a few miles of the place I live, so even if I've forgotten to pack something, Dan can run home and get it and be back within half an hour (as opposed to 2 and a half hours one-way); and yet another super important difference: this time around I'll get a Priesthood Blessing.
In the mean time, though, it's boring just waiting. And waiting. And not wanting to cook, but knowing that if I get into the dinners that I froze, I'll be angry with myself. Then getting into the soup I froze as a lunch (my theory being that lunches are easier to make than dinners, so I won't regret its loss as much-I think my theory is flawed). So, in an effort to not only amuse myself, but to also keep busy, I've started washing baby clothes that I've been compulsively buying. Seriously, I've been like a crackhead, trying to score a hit. And Dan's trying to keep me on the straight and narrow, but I duck out of his grasp, or I hide. Heaven help me, I even fibbed about going to the bathroom one time at the Chandler Mall so I could check out Children's Place. And it doesn't even have to be boy clothes. The sales ladies at Jack and Janie smiled and chuckled to see Dan walk into the store and drag me away from an adorable, red, smocked dress with a bow at the waist. So, the upshot is that Nate already has more clothes than his daddy, and he's already growing out of them. I'm soo heartbroken. But, like a fool, I bought about a half dozen adorable little, little baby outfits, and as I was looking at tags, the newborn clothes say up to 7, or 8 pounds. And Mommy's Little Linebacker isn't going to get to wear them. Or if he does, he'll wear them for about half a minute, before we have a hulk-like moment of baby tearing through the fabric, pounding his fists argrily at the constriction, bellowing "Nate mad, Nate smash" as he rips the tattered shreds away.
Well, I obviously have waaaayyy too much time on my hands, I think I'll go refold baby clothes for a while.