The other night during our family walk I confessed to Josh that I want to do nothing. Nothing at all, except get his baby out. If an activity does not directly support the goal of helping me spontaneously go into labor, then I have 0% interest in it. Laundry. Nope. Making dinner. Nah. Blogging. Definitely not.

Give me a yoga ball, a long walk, some spicy food and some red raspberry leaf tea and I'm happy as a clam. 

Josh has argued that I find peace in blogging and processing my thoughts and a heart and body at peace is more likely to go into labor. 

I silently cursed him under my breath because I knew he was right.

These final days of pregnancy drag by. I try and keep Felix and I busy in the mornings by running errands, taking walks, doing crafts, but by the time lunch hits and nap time rolls around all I want to do is bounce on my yoga ball and then let him watch Octonauts while I read birth stories till Josh gets home. He pretty much get's what ever he wants because I have no energy to deal. More crackers? sure. Juice? ok. Another episode? Come snuggle your momma and grab the remote on your way. 

It's terrible. I keep rationalizing that "this is my last chance to be super lazy for a while" but  i know it's just a bad habit that is starting before harder times ahead with two in tow. Even though we are being lazy and indulgent, I am treasuring these days as a mom of one. 

I read an article last night on Huffington Post titled "11 Things Empty Nesters Want Parents of Little Kids to Know". I cried by the time I got to the end of it. Thinking about Felix growing up and leaving the house and how these days, as mundane and boring as they are, will become a blur. 

These beautiful days that currently make up my life. filled with peanut butter and jelly, hot wheels covering the kitchen floor and wild sticky curly red bed head hair in a pouf on the back of his head. 

How he says "come on willow" in a sweet high pitched voice every time he moves from one room to the next. How he grabs my face with both hands and squishes my cheeks pulling me in for a kiss. How he loves to help in the kitchen and even in the inconvenience of it all, it's my favorite thing to have him dump the measured water, flour, or salt into the bowl. And how it's gross, but cracks me up that he sneak licks of sugar out of the canister in the midsts of cookie baking. 

How he yells "Daddy home!" when we hear Josh's car pull into the car port then subsequently melts down in tears because he hates when willow barks and most of the time the first words josh hears upon entering the house are "willow loud!"

Even how he says "jay bird" for "scary part" when something makes him nervous (like the hippo at the zoo play ground) and he comes and buries his face in my thigh and grabs my hand for reassurance.

How he yells "Get me!" and we chase each other 50 times around the kitchen island. Him lapping me doing my largely pregnant waddle till he runs to a corner and is trapped and we dissolve in to tickles upon tickles upon tickles.

How we brave the cold to kick the soccer ball back and forth outside and he will throw his head back and wildly laugh for no apparent reason and that makes me laugh and then josh laughs and then we are all laughing and laughing till our bellies hurt like mad people.

Deep down I know much of it will inevitably be a blur. But for now, these are the things I want to remember. 

So I write. I pass the time till we add another little bundle to our messy, wild, overly-indulgent (for now) lives. And I write.

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