In which I wax philosophical and nostalgic.

The truth is that I've been a bit cranky lately. I know that the baby is much easier to take care of on the inside than the outside, but I'm anxious to get the show on the road. There's also the fact that the sooner she's born, the sooner we can get acclimated. And at this point, the infernal waiting for labor to start may drive me (and everyone around me) batty. I get everything perfectly cleaned and prepared and then--If you can even believe this audacity--life continues on and I have to do the same getting-ready chores all over again. And again. And then again. (Because heaven knows I can't possibly bring a baby home to a house whose floors need to be swept or where there's laundry to be done. Impossible to even contemplate.)

So I've been going on long walks in addition to exercising every day in the hopes that slinging the baby weight from side to side as I lumber around for a mile or two* will convince the baby and my body that the twain should part.

When I left on my walk this morning, Caleb had finished his chores and was ready to be my sidekick, swinging his light saber and wearing my old blue cape (with dinner-plate sized red spots and a red M on the back). We walked, according to mapmyrun.com, for 1.63 miles. We passed men pouring a sidewalk, several horses and sheep, our church building, and turned around at the bakery**.

I had a hot little hand in mine the whole way. I asked him questions--like if he was ready for the baby and if he was nervous. "Why would I be nervous?" he responded, like I was purposefully asking a silly question. We talked about Star Wars (of course) and how the baby horse from last summer is just as big as its parents now (as big as a four-year-old***, really, he told me).

At one point, he dropped my hand so he could go in for a nose pick. When he tried to resume contact, I told him I didn't want to hold a booger hand, so he very matter-of-factly switched which hand was holding the light saber and offered to switch.

I took him up on it. Already four years old, my boy is about to undergo the huge transformation of becoming a big brother in the next couple of weeks. I'm not sure how soon it's going to be before he's too big to hold my hand.

Isn't he huge? Note how his sleeves are (forever) too short? See? Proof.

*Yes it is as attractive as it sounds.
**I had thoughtlessly left all money at home, much to Caleb's great disappointment.
***Clearly the very essence of adulthood being the four-year-old. Especially in the four-year-old's mind.