That's what every day feels like to me, now that we have an official end date on this pregnancy (a date that is three weeks from today - egad). Obviously, this is irrational, since the baby could come at any time if we were just going the natural route, but somehow this seems more definite. And so each morning when I wake up, I know that I have one fewer night of restful (if interrupted) sleep. And each day requires that I accomplish a great deal. I guess it's good to have that incentive to keep me from foolishly procrastinating.
We've wrapped up our classes now, feeling only slightly more enlightened than when we began. The breastfeeding class last Thursday was quite useful, although when we have an actual squirming and probably disgruntled baby in front of us, I'm sure panic will set in. The upside of a c-section is that I should still be in the hospital when my milk comes in and will have access to the lactation consultants. The "parenting the newborn" class yesterday was taught by the woman who says "make for sure" instead of "make sure." My husband and I counted up 40 times that she said it. We did this because we are assholes. Anyway, that class was mildly useful - she kind of rushed us through the actual practice of swaddling and diaper-changing; I was hoping it would be a boot camp of those things so that we'd establish the motions in our muscle memory and would be able to execute them when in the throes of sleep-deprivation and panic. No such luck.
Despite my continued anxiety about everything, I am getting excited to meet the little fellow whose name I will not tell you just yet. Obviously, we sort of know what he looks like from the ultrasound, but not really. My husband had blond hair when he was born (it's now medium-brown), while my hair color has been a consistent medium brown from the get-go. No one in my family has blond hair - every single person who is relatively closely related to me has brown hair of some variety - so it would be bizarre to produce an even-temporarily Nordic-looking child. I suspect the child will be reasonably tall (I'm 5'8" and my husband is 6'1"), although my husband and I do both have short people in our families. I hope our son gets my husband's musical abilities, athleticism and muscle tone, and crisp jaw line. I hope he gets my organizational abilities, common sense, and lack of gray hair. I hope he is creative and brave and empathetic and hilarious. But on my side of the family positive traits have a tendency to be bred out, so he'll probably get my singing voice (caw! caw!) and eyesight (poor), as well as my husband's hygiene (disturbing) and absent-mindedness. Alas. We will love him anyway. And we hope the dog will, too.