I went to the grocery store.

I started a load of laundry and then kept finding other things to do other than put that load of laundry in the dryer. 

I made a to-do list, including several things I'd already done, so I could come back to it later and check off a whole shit load of stuff. 

Chicken and I did an art project. It's called BaBa Sheep. It's a sheep, covered in multicolored poof balls and glitter glue. It's a Super Disco Liberace BaBa Sheep. It is pretty fucking awesome. 

I didn't have, like, a lot of feelings about tomorrow. 

I think it might be because we're still waiting for the "yes, for sure, you're in" green light. We have to call at 6 am to see if they can take us, since it's an elective induction. If all the rooms are full, I have to mosey on down to the manger to birth this sweet boy. 

But yeah, I don't know... I think I was expecting my last day as a mom of one to be more, you know, LAST DAYish. Fireworks. Emotions. Some kind of epiphany. 

The only revelation I had today was that I got to do a lot of things on my own terms, or at least more on my own terms than I will starting tomorrow when I have a toddler AND a brand-new baby AND a pizza (see how I slipped that last one in there?) 

I got up before Chicken to have a cup of coffee and read Slate. I spent Chicken's nap procrastinating on laundry, taking my time reorganizing new-baby gear, blogging and resting and reading and half-watching X-Men - all a luxury. 

I went to the grocery store and just had the one kid to pop in the cart. 

It was, seriously, such a regular day. 

And I think I'm really just fine with that. 

It's 10:58 pm. In 7 hours we'll wake up and find out when we gon' birth this baby.