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The essence of the waiting has transformed now that we know that if the baby doesn’t come in the next three days, then on Tuesday-- Friday at the very latest-- we’ll go into the hospital and induce labor. Now anticipating Fishy is less like waiting for some indeterminate miracle, and more like anticipating Christmas Morning or the first day of summer vacation.

And it’s a good thing-- I don’t think I need to tell you-- that the end is now clearly in sight.

Heather’s never been one to suffer fools—- i.e. me a good deal of the time—- gladly, but lately she’s been touchier than normal, and getting even touchier daily. It’s hard feeling like I’m just a walking/talking pain in the ass to her. I know this will change, eventually get better, but it’s not likely to do so anytime in the next six months or so, since she plans on breastfeeding and thus taking on the lion’s share of the sleep deprivation.

I took Declan down to the Seattle Children’s Museum this morning. We got there when it first opened, which in my opinion is the best time, since it’s not as crowded, and the toys not all “played with”. He's been involving other kids in his play more lately, which I’m glad of since I know it’s only natural as he gets older. It’s an adjustment for me though, since I don’t necessarily like other kids, and I’m sometimes gently tempted to throttle them when they act like punks and bullies to my kid. Still, I almost always stand back, and let him deal with it in his own way. His standard m.o. when faced with a bossy playmate is to just sort of stare at him or her stupidly until the other kid gets bored and moves on, leaving behind whatever toy or playground item Declan wanted to play with in the first place. I sort of marvel at this behavior, actually modeling it in my own endeavors with varying degrees of success. I’m nearly 38 years old, and it’s only been in the last eight or so of them that I’ve learned that it’s not necessary to engage every confrontation one comes across. Declan is like my unwitting post-graduate thesis advisor in this ongoing education.

After lunch, my favorite time of day: nap time. Heather turned to me and asked if I thought there was anything wrong with the baby.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, maybe there’s something wrong and that’s why it doesn’t want to come out.”

“There’s nothing wrong. They did all those tests, remember? The baby’s fine in there. Just too comfortable, is all.”

Then she just started to cry in that horrifying way she does: silently, reluctantly, as if it physically pained her to show such extreme emotion. (I was raised in an environment constantly injected with extreme emotion, like a holding cell regularly blasted with a high-pressure hose, so her reticence always confounds me a bit.)

I consoled her, somewhat, I think. And then we slept a little.

Won’t be long now.

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