To answer your question…

NOPE. NOT YET.

WE WILL NOT BE RUSHED.

Let’s not pretend we’re thinking about much else, mmmkay? Who would we be kidding? It would all be a farce, a ruse, a big show.

Instead, we wait.

Did I ever mention that I’m not all that great at waiting?

So I’ll show you a picture. Because pictures are fun in lieu of something shiny.

This is what we call our “French dinner.” Olive ciabatta, brie, and grapes. Wine and milk because we’re classy.
Entertainment? The Office, season three.

This is how we start the week where we’re too tired to plan a menu, don’t know when we’re going to the hospital, and nothing else is on the calendar besides another midwife appointment and….um. Well. Have a baby.

I apologize for what I’ve been reduced to. I realize how low I’ve stooped. Pictures of dinner. There’s still intelligent life in here somewhere, I promise. But I figured I’d avoid following through with my threat from last Thursday by distracting you with something completely irrelevant.

Le sigh.

And hey! Here’s what my awesome husband wore on our walk last night!
So…that’s what we’re up to.

I realize this may be the last post before Peanut comes (though I’ve threatened that before) and I will have shown you food and my husband as a walking Pemco commercial, “Socks With Sandals Guy” (not to mention the rest of the ensemble). There were others posts in the queue, but seriously. This is where I’m at.
Give an overdue mama a break.