Our baby girl and baby boy should, if we're lucky, arrive in 7 or 8 weeks. Every day I hope that we all make it that long, and they arrive big and strong and healthy. All of the sudden, 7 or 8 weeks doesn't seem like a very long time.
We're not ready for them yet. Our cribs haven't arrived. We haven't ordered our diaper package yet. I don't have a breast pump. I haven't finished reading all of the hippie granola birthing books on my list. I haven't met with the La Leche League twins group yet. We haven't packed our hospital bag. I haven't even decided what should go into the hospital bag, other than a giant piece of cake and a bottle of liquor.
Moreover, I haven't finished collecting data. I'm not done teaching my class. I haven't done the revisions for my latest article that needs revising, and I haven't submitted the other article that needs submitting. I haven't finished attending all of the meetings I need to attend. My graduate student hasn't defended his thesis yet.
We haven't gone out with our friends enough. We haven't had enough late nights. We haven't seen enough bands, watched enough movies, or seen enough plays.
We're nowhere near ready, and all I can think about is how I can't wait for them to get here.
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