In the teens

The pregnancy countdown is in the teens. Well, technically it was in the teens last Wednesday. Semantics.

He’s in a good downward position, heartbeat sounds good, weight right on par with the first two. When he finally decides he really wants to meet L, me and his brothers, he’ll let us know.

I say he because we’re still up in the air about a name even though we’ve got it narrowed down to three, maybe four. So as far as that goes, we’re thrilled. It’s only taken 30-something weeks to decide that we finally have it down to three or four. I’ll tell you one thing: We’re not leaving that hospital without him having a name. Plus, there’s always tons of nurses on-call if you need anything, which cannot be said when we get home. That’s when it’ll truly set in that we’re about to embark on this amazing child-raising journey once again. From scratch.

This past week, our house turned into an infirmary after L and I had what is likely our final night out for a while. You’ve probably heard of a Babymoon, when couples get away on a trip prior to baby being born. Yeah, we just had one day and night free, but it was glorious. We cleaned the house, purged old crap we don’t need anymore or haven’t used in a while, went to dinner with some friends and then took in a show. Then it went downhill.

G woke up Monday morning with puke all over his crib. Then he napped Monday afternoon and woke up with puke all over his crib, the floor and the walls—but somehow slept through it. I quickly cleaned him up in two minutes before I had to go get N from school. Smelling like puke, I took him inside, where he happily greeted everyone with a “Hi!” and a wave, so I figured maybe he was alright. He then proceeded to puke on himself four times on the way home, prompting N to laugh and gag at the smell almost simultaneously. It was only 20 degrees outside, but the car windows were opened all the way. It was toxic. Tuesday morning he woke up with more puke in his crib.

Tuesday he was fine, and he’s since kicked the sick—but on Wednesday, as the natural progression would have it, L and I felt like garbage. She was achy, had a sore lower back, felt nauseous, had a slight headache while I was just achy with a killer migraine. Welcome to the infirmary.

It took until Thursday, nearly 96 hours after the initial outbreak, for all of us to feel almost 100 percent again. Except for N, he was at 100 percent going 100 mph the entire time. Ahh to be young again.

The bunk beds came and were put on the back burner since everyone was sick, and we plan on hitting up IKEA this weekend to get the finishing accents for the boys’ room, ya know, once I put the bunk bed together in their room. N is so stoked for it.

I’ve got to do some crafty-type things for D3’s room and touch up a few spots with spackle and paint, but that should only take a few hours.

As for how L is feeling at this stage of the pregnancy, she’s over it. We literally shot hoops in N’s room with each shot prefaced with an “If I make this, the baby won’t be born for at least four days” or “The baby will be born around the due date if I hit this.” We’ll see what kind of weight door basketball holds.

She also feels like everything is gonna fall out when she stands up, which isn’t exactly a vote of confidence as far as making it until the 25th, her due date.

I do feel like we’re ready for this kid to join us—everything is in place, the house is ready to go—but I’m also OK if he decides to wait a few more weeks.

The clock is ticking albeit a little quicker now.