3 Weeks Until

Three weeks until the baby arrives.

Twenty days from right now. Fifteen working days. Three more Saturdays.

I’m making lists that run front and back and include things like “figure out better agency profitability” and “pick hallway paint color.”

I’ve organized closets and snack drawers and washed everything in Dreft.

I get weekly ultrasounds and analyze the black-and-white images, comparing them to side-by-side photos of Caroline and Kate. Does that look like a boy nose? Are those girl lips?

I keep Googling things I already know… like what effacement means. I take the baby’s current weight from the ultrasound tech and multiply it by the projected six ounces a week it’s supposed to gain in the remaining time in the womb.

I find myself tilting my head, squinting at my screen, voluntarily watching strangers’ videos of labor stories and struggles.

I text my best friend, who just had her fourth, and tell her I’m freaking out about giving birth, even though it’s my third time. She tells me to use that fear and channel it.

I spend more time preparing, planning, trying to perfect how these last few days go than actually doing anything productive.

I lay in bed and tell myself I need to rest. To relax. To remember what a newborn means. I find comfort in this mantra for a moment.

But only a moment.

Nineteen days tomorrow.

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