Homestretch

Today marks the 32nd week of my pregnancy, which roughly translates to 8 months. Only 8 more weeks of baking to go! Well, 7 really, since I'll likely be induced a week prior to my due date because of my diabetes and hypertension. It's weird how it simultaneously feels like both a long and short period of time. Eight months is a long time to have something brewing in your belly, but when I think about how much time I actually have left before she takes her first breath of life in the outside world, the panic and sheer terror begin to set in. Am I ready for all the pain? Am I ready for all the sleepless nights? Am I ready to be someone's PARENT, someone who is actually in charge of another small, helpless human being? It's all so daunting and ignites such fear in me, but it's also exhilarating and fills me with such excitement and anticipation! We are in for quite a loooong rollercoaster ride. Actually, I guess it's technically neverending. You never stop being a parent, even when they're in their teens and think they know it all, or when they're in their 20s and think they have everything figured out already, or even when they're in their 30s and are settled into a career, own property, perhaps even have their own children. No, parenthood is everlasting, and something for which I've waited all of my adult life.

Flying nowhere

I work about 7 miles away from the Philadelphia Airport.  This makes for terrible cell reception, as each time a plane flies over the office, the call breaks up or is lost completely.  I've become the queen of 2-minute conversations.  But that's not the worst of it.  The worst thing about working near the airport is watching the planes flying out from my three-walled, grey cubicle, envious of the people on those planes and fantasizing about what exotic, far-off, tropical location they're heading to, wishing it were me on that plane.