The baby's room is all put together and decorated. The hospital bags are packed. We have the birth plan and the phone list. Now we wait. The due date is still weeks away, but due dates really don't mean a thing. The baby could show up tomorrow or 3 weeks from now. It's all very mysterious. How does a woman's body decide when to go into labor? What is the trigger that sets that stuff into motion? I'm sure it's chemical and/or hormonal, but what triggers the chemistry? I feel like I should know this kind of thing by now. I should have paid more attention in Biology class.
Today is St. Patrick's Day. I work in Boston. Here is an equation for you:
(March 17 + Boston + 500,000 idiots) x bars open at Noon = streets and trains full of vomiting drunks = Cranky Dave
Don't get me wrong... I have great affection for Irish culture, literature, and music. I'd like to apologize for my various ancestors who may have been complicit in over 800 years of bloody British oppression. Dreadfully sorry about that. I might even indulge in a Shamrock Shake today... and I'll probably have a little Jameson's on the rocks when I get home and maybe listen to the Pogues.
It's just the crowds of staggering drunken college students and investment bankers in sparkly emerald hats waiving around shamrocks and puking green beer onto my Doc Martens that I can do without... and most of you bastards (and bastard-ettes) aren't even Irish! I wish you all very happy Saturday morning hangovers. The ones that feel like someone drove an axe into your skull... Yeah, remember that from last year? Good times.
No really... Happy St. Patrick's Day.
Like I said, Cranky Dave.
Posted by kromedome at March 17, 2006 12:48 PM | TrackBackYou took biology class???
I think you already know from my blog that labor is completely and utterly arbitrary, and nothing you do will help the baby come. Which is not to say that you shouldn't try if you want to. (It's your party. You can try if you want to.)
That said, my fingers are crossed for Liz to go into labor as soon as possible, unless it's snowing or otherwise truly inconvenient or dangerous to be on the road.
Posted by: Liza at March 19, 2006 11:38 AMOver here they call them 'Plastic Paddys': those people who's ggggg grandfather's uncle's brother's best mate's next door neighbour was Irish, therefore so are they.
Pubs open at half ten here. Guinness were doing a promotion: drink ten pints and get a hat. You won't believe the number of people wearing the bloody hat at midday when I went out for lunch.
Thinking of you both, I hope the next few weeks pass quickly and easily. xxx
Posted by: claire at March 19, 2006 02:13 PM