At least that makes one of us

The past week has been a whirlwind of getting ready. My mom is in da house, which means that things are being cleaned that I didn't even know COULD be cleaned. She's white vinegar-ed the washing machine, and torn apart the oven and put it back together again. She's lifted a lot off of our shoulders so that Greg can focus on the Kitchen and I can lay down when I need to with a little less guilt. The pets adore her because she hasn't yet learned that all of their begging for attention is out of being spoiled and not out of neglect. She's sewn up the curtains, grocery shopped, and she cleans the litter box daily. It's amazing.

Greg's had time to install the microwave, outlets, and put all cabinet doors and hardware up.

We were supposed to have a countertop by now... But we don't. We DID have one for about an hour last week on Tuesday. Then it went away.

I was almost weak enough to just ask that they leave it. Even though one edge of the countertop extended 8 inches beyond the lower cabinet. Even though one side of it was completely unfinished and you could see the wood inside the solid surface top. Even though it was square edged rather than the bull-nose that we paid for. Even though there was a bump in the surface that they sanded down and then you could see the sanded spot. Even though they cut it wrong around a corner of the kitchen and then tried to hide it with a fused patch that was obvious. Even though there were see-able and feel-able seams throughout. Even though the sink was dented in 7 places.

...

I really really want a countertop and more importantly: a sink.

When the boss-dude showed up, he declared the job unacceptable and not up to par with their work quality. He had the guys pull it up immediately and said they'd fix it and throw in plumbing and a free windowsill out of the same material... Which is nice and all. And I appreciate that they're fixing it. But seriously? I was 9 days away from my due date. Now I'm 3 days away and still no countertop.




Last night, Greg was holding me in bed - as best he can on the other side of my ginormous and nest-like pregnancy pillow - and he put his hand on my belly and got very quiet. He just stared and stared at his hand. And then his eyes started filling up with tears. Without looking up he told me that with all this stress lately - with the kitchen and the house and the nursery.... We haven't been focusing on this one obvious thing. When we talk about pregnancy and birth we end up talking about labor and delivery and what's going to happen and pain and pain management and the doula, etc.

We don't talk about the fact that we're going to be holding an infant in our arms when this is all over. That's the point. That we're going to have a baby. Our baby. My baby. His baby.

He looked up at me with tears streaming down his cheeks, and he said "I'm ready."