Drama

This weekend might be the last sane one in awhile. If Julie goes on her due-date or a couple days after, next Friday night might find us no longer searching for entertainment, no longer looking for ways to pass the time. Hence, we should enjoy this weekend, go to a movie, an art museum, a restaurant, a monster truck rally.

It's like trying to enjoy the weekend before Christmas. What do you normally do on that weekend? Probably, you shop and/or sit around and watch movies. And since it's looking more and more like winter outside, I imagine we'll do the same. Maybe we'll spice it up a little. Maybe I'll sit on Julie's legs to de-crazy them, or perhaps I'll spend some time poking the squish in her increasingly shapeless feet until she smacks me.

I want a dramatic transition into labor, like in a movie when the woman's water breaks at a climactic moment. Maybe we'll be in a bank while it's being robbed, the masked guy screaming "Everybody down!" and suddenly SPLAT goes the fluid, and he's momentarily distracted so I punch his lights out. Then I lead my contracting wife to the car amid cheers, and we get a police escort all the way to the hospital.

Something tells me--and it's for the best--that the transition into labor will be slow and tedious, possibly with no momentous breaking of the water at all. We'll time the contractions, call the nurse line, hang out a while longer, pack the bag, and finally drive to the hospital. It's her first baby, so it's not like it'll pop out on the freeway.

But if it does, I'll deliver it in the back seat as cars whiz by. No worries: I saw it on a show once.