It’s bottom of the ninth…
2 minute warning…
The final countdown (where’s GOB when you need him?)…
I think that’s enough sports analogies for now, you most likely get the point. It’s been an interesting transition to go from being pregnant to expecting – it’s no longer this thing in the future, it’s now this thing that can literally happen at any moment. It’s hard to explain the difference but it’s there and it’s almost palpable.
Heather had planned to work through the end of this week but has had to call it quits as fluid movement has become a distant memory. It’s become quite an adventure traversing the harsh plains of the living room, the treacherous crevasse of the stairs and the imminent pillow avalanche in the bedroom. Everything is an adventure and I eagerly await the call from NatGeo to document it all.
The general consensus is that if the mother-to-be’s mom was late then she will be as well. This was the case with Heather’s mom, so it appears that we will be (sorry, but here comes more sports analogies) headed to extra innings or going into overtime.
Sorry GOB but we may have to delay The Final Countdown for just a bit longer, or perhaps we should watch a compilation just in case:
P.S. GOB Poore is a terrible name, right? Just checking.
