Hey, remember how I’m overdue? Yeah, I didn’t forget either.

At this point I have just decided that I am never going to have this baby. And that’s fine, because really, I’ve heard it hurts. And I remember that I’m not so good with pain.

In an effort to think and write about something other than how uncomfortable I am, how sick of coming into work everyday I am, and to forget that I have to go to the bathroom every 30 minutes, I give you scanned pictures of my youth:

Loot at me. I’m nekkid. And happy. This may have been the first and last time my Mom actually did anything with my hair. From this point on, I was in charge of styling my own hair. Which is why my hair was always bad. I would have to wait until my Grandma was in town visiting to get my hair done. She did the best french braids. Ever.

This is my family. Aren’t we cute? The 70’s were a good time. Mostly because my two younger siblings hadn’t been born yet. It’s funny to look back at pictures of my older brother and say “how did we not know he was gay?” Because, seriously.

This is my 6th birthday party, back when we lived in Oregon. Notice that my Mom is trying to tell me something. But mostly I just want her to shut up and let me open my presents, damn it. Judging by the hair style her and I both shared, I think she’s saying something like, “Did you see the Triple Lutz that Dorothy Hamill did at the last Olympics?” My Mom hasn’t changed so much. She still won’t shut up and she still sports the “Dorothy Hamill Wedge Cut”. Which may have been cute in the 80’s but isn’t so cute anymore.

My Dad went back to school around this time in my life to become a teacher. He took lots of photography classes. Which means there are many “artsy” photos of my as a child. When I think of “artistic photos of children”, I think of “child porn”. But this wasn’t that type of “artistic”. Although the length of my shorts is quite daring.

My love affair with all things stylish started about here. With the awesome shawl. That I wore all the time. And wasn’t very stylish at all. My Mom also had one, so I loved to wear mine when she would wear hers. Why she let me get a way with this is beyond me. What you don’t see in this picture is that under this shawl I’m wearing a t-shirt and shorts. “Aww, it’s summer. But a shawl is still needed for dramatic effect.”

My grandma must have been in town when this picture was taken. How can I tell? 1) My hair is done up 2) I’m wearing a dress she made me 3) My brother trying to act normal to get her to like him the best.

(again, tell me how we didn’t know he was gay?)

Yes, I have lived in a trailer court. And lived to tell about it.

This is fast becoming a “we didn’t know he was gay?!” photo essay. Because look at his perm in this photo. Yes, my brother made my Mom give him perms. He would save up his money over the summer and buy a perm kit for my Mom to do his hair with. I’m not sure how long it took until my Mom finally put her foot down and refused to perm his hair. I don’t remember making fun of his hair back then. I was too busy perfecting my posture. Check it out.

Sometime in 1983 I figured out the pose I would use in just about every picture taken of me from this time forward. Yes, this is the pose. Either that or I was a very angst ridden 8 year old. But not too angst ridden to show off some thigh. But no ankles. No, showing my ankles would be scandalous.

I present you now with the stars of the play “The Reluctant Dragon”. Our school put it on and my brother and I both got leading roles. I was the fair-maiden, of course. And he was the studly Knight, of course. Look at him trying to butch it up for the camera. Gay? No way.

There is no photographic proof that I was ever a teenager. Which is too bad, because I was so pretty and totally was in style and never wore clothes that added to the fact that I was probably a little too chubby and had horrible, horrible hair and bad teeth. Yes, it’s too bad there are no pictures of that.

Instead I leave you with this picture of my friend and I in Vegas last year. Although we were too mature to actually see the Thunder From Down Under, we were not too mature to take a picture of us rubbing the poster.

And then because I just think it’s cute, here is a picture of The King as a baby. I’m so curious to see if my little guy looks like him.

I woke up this morning feeling a little disappointed in myself. As if I have anything to do with when I go into labor. But still I feel like I’ve failed.

I decided to just take things easy this morning and didn’t get to work until almost 10:00. That was nice. But not as nice as not coming in at all would have been.

When I got to work I had this e-mail from The King in my inbox:

The King: Please have the baby today. Just go ahead and do it. Or at least go into labor so we can know that things are moving along.

I told him I’d see what I can do.

I’m going to the Market at lunch to buy some raspberry leaf tea. Does anyone have any experience with that actually inducing labor?

The King has this coworker. Let’s call him Pat. I’ve never met Pat, but I’ve heard a lot about him. A lot. The King just loves Pat. Pat is funny and crazy and does wild things. Pat also seems to know everyone.

For instance, Pat has a good friend who owns a strip club down in Portland. So Pat and his wife and other Seattle friends like to frequent this club in Portland. You know, to support their friend.

Pat was complaining yesterday to The King that his wife and the other ladies that go with them don’t know the rules of attending a strip club. (Look at me, I didn’t even know there were rules.) He said they always blow through their money too fast and it drives him crazy.

Apparently Pat’s wife will ask Pat for some one’s to give to the dancers. So Pat will give her ten singles. Which she immediately hands to the dancer. All ten singles.

Pat: You can’t give them all the money right at the start. You have to tempt them your way by giving them one dollar at a time.

Pat’s Wife: But she’s working so hard. She deserved it.

Pat: But that’s not how it works. Here’s ten more singles. Remember, one at a time.

Pat’s wife gives the dancer all ten dollars, again.

Pat: What are you doing?

Pat’s Wife: She’s just so cute. And look at what a good dancer she is. She deserves it.

Pat: That’s it. I’m cutting you off until you learn how this works.

Now I’m just curious what the other rules of attending a strip club are. Maybe something like, don’t trade your undies with any of the dancers.

But that one might actually go without saying.

• Phone calls from everybody and their dog asking if you’ve had the baby yet. And when you screen your calls and don’t call them right back, they think you have had the baby. And they keep calling. So you might as well just pick up the phone by saying, “no baby yet! Quit calling!”
• Seriously Mom, I’ll call you when I go into labor. You will not be forgotten. So quit calling.
• The doctor should be forbidden from telling you, “oh, you’re going to have your baby THIS WEEKEND!” Because really, what does she know?
• People should be smarter than to assume that just because today is your actual due date, it does not mean that you will have the baby on that date. In fact something like only 3% of women have their baby on their due date. Which means I won’t be having this baby today.
• I shouldn’t have finished all of my tasks at work last Friday thinking that I wouldn’t be back today. Because now? I’ve got to come up with some tasks to make me look busy. And maybe for the rest of the week. Which is pretty much impossible.

Any other suggestions of things that I should not have to put up with today?

It’s Saturday morning. You know what that means? It means today is the day that we should be taking my Mom’s advice on how to start labor.

But since The King fell asleep on the couch last night, the only snuggling that happened was between Preston (the cat) and I. And it was lovely. But probably won’t start labor.

The phone rang this morning and The King was sure it was going to be my Mom. This is how he said that conversation would go:

The King: Why are you calling us? We’re busy. I’ve got Isabel hanging from the ceiling with some sort of contraption to help with the hard-core sex and the inducing of labor.

My Mom: Oh, how’s she feeling? Any contractions yet?

The King: I can’t really talk right now. I need both of my hands free. Oh, and I’ve got something in my mouth. We’ll call you if this works. Thanks for the suggestions.

Thank goodness it wasn’t her on the phone.

Remember how we had planned to demo our house next week? But then we ended up doing it yesterday? Fun stuff. (And you know that by “we“, I mean we paid someone to do it, right?)

The King went over last night to see if the house was down. And it was. Apparently it took one hour to tear it down. Which is sort of sad since I’m sure that someone, a long time ago, spent a very long time building the house. Just to have it end up looking like this:

Isn’t it lovely? Today is the clean-up day.

The only stuff that was left in the house before demo was just junk. We were able to save a lot of the old doors and molding (which we hope to use in the new house). As well as donate the old fixtures to a home recycling foundation. We are also donating the concrete from the foundation of the house to a group that reuses it for retaining walls. The new house will be a “built green” house. Which means we are only thinking of the environment. (And thinking of the resale value!) We’re going for a four star rating.

And now, belly updates. Because, that’s really the only thing on my mind.

Yesterday’s doctor’s appointment went well. I am progressing just fine. Which is good. As the doctor left the examination room I heard her say (under her breath), “you’re having this baby this weekend.”

I may hold her to it.

She also told me that if I don’t have the baby by Monday (my due date) I need to call and schedule an induction for Easter Sunday (the 16th). So either way, I’ll have a baby by Easter. Can you even believe that? Because, I can’t.

After the appointment I treated myself to a manicure and pedicure. Which was Heaven. Please explain to me why we ladies don’t do that more often? Or at least why I don’t do that more often?

My toes are pretty. My fingers are gorgeous (this is of course, not counting the fact that they are all horribly swollen). I’m ready for this baby.

So ready that I’ve run out of clothes that fit. I was forced to wear something that wasn’t all black today. Not only is it not all black. I’m wearing white. Which really, never happens. (Although I’m super thankful to Marci for the hand-me-downs.)

But I’m also wearing (black) flip-flops. To work. At my office. Where we have a dress code. Which doesn’t include flip-flops.

And I don’t even care.

In fact, I’m happy about it.

So there.