The moon is full tonight.
The barometer has dropped so that now it is cold and raining. The first snows are predicted in the Cascades.
I have nested to the enth degree: floors cleaned and re-cleaned; rugs rolled up, sent to the cleaners and returned; blinds vacuumed. I even re-arranged the furniture in the living room in an attempt to bring on some labor action.
The freezer (and we have one that is big like a full-size refridgerator in our garage) cannot absorb one more food item. It is stocked to the gills with homemade chicken potpies, lasagnas, and - Missy's favorite - 70 lbs (!) of frozen blueberries from a local orchard. (We go through blueberries in this house like some toddlers roll through string cheese.) That this baby's due date coincided with the final harvests of the season is somewhat to blame. I think I have 12 full chickens and our Thanksgiving turkey in there, too.
The pantry is likewise: shelves of pasta, boxes of Annie's bunny crackers, bags of flour and sugar along with dozens of quarts of applesauce, nectarines, peaches and roasted tomatoes put up in the past 6 weeks.
Everything for baby has been (a) pulled out, (b) laundered, (c) put in its place. All the momma necessities I didn't plan for with Missy - breast milk storage bags? wtf? - are under the counter in the bath.
My bag is packed. But its contents are much different than the first time. Gone are the ipods, magazines and books. In their place is a breast pump, sterlized bottles for collecting colostorum and warm shirts and hats for the baby. Did I ever mention I forgot to pack clothing for Missy the first time around?
Everything that I wasn't prepared for with my first baby has been checked off the list.
Everything except for how agonizing and physically painful those last few weeks of pregnancy can be. I am generally not a whiner, least of all about physical pain, but - Good Lord Almighty!
By being born at 36 weeks, Missy spared me this final assault on my body. Her little sister, however, seems intent on picking up the slack.
I guess this is a precursor of life to come: what one doesn't teach and prepare me for, the other one will.
Bring it, girls, I think with a mixture of pleasure and ruefulness.