Groundhog Day would’ve been a good day to be born. I made the mistake of sending a clever text to my very pregnant daughter this morning: “I wonder if Little Mister will stick his head out to see his shadow today!” Hardy-har-har. My equally clever sister commented, “You better hope he doesn’t see his shadow today. That would mean six more weeks!” Tee-hee-hee. It was even suggested my darling daughter find a donkey to ride around town for awhile as that seemed to do the trick for Mary….
Sorry, honey. We are all just a little wacko right now. We jump when the phone rings. PB checks the airlines for immediate seating tickets several times a day. I do laundry every morning so all our underwear is ready to be thrown into a suitcase in a moment’s notice. Things are getting a little outta control.
As nerve-wracking as this is, waiting for Little Mister to be born has been a good exercise in patience. It’s healthy for us to be forced from time to time to give up some control. We need to be reminded once in a while that there are things beyond our realm of influence. Nature just has to take its course and there’s no sense in fighting it.
Super Bowl Sunday would be a good day to be born…