Born December 8, 2010 at 4:57am

7 lbs, 5 oz…and perfect.

#2 is #2 no more. Now he’s baby N—a living, breathing, tiny little person who takes up his own space in the world. We are both healthy and settled back at home, adjusting to our new life together as a family of four (plus dog.)

So how did it all happen? Despite my fears he’d make an early debut and catch me unprepared, I made it to my scheduled 40-week OB visit with #2 safely inside. The appointment revealed I was 3-4cm dilated and partially effaced, and #2’s estimated weight was a very respectable—and push-out-able—7 pounds, 9 oz. So much for the 10 lb jumbo baby they’d predicted. I wondered if it was bad luck to indulge in a milkshake on the way home from the OB’s office.

An ultrasound showed us #2 was in a great position, low in my pelvis with his head down. I’d been losing pieces of my mucous plug (ick) all week and was starting to feel contractions. J, my OB and I decided to schedule an induction if things hadn’t progressed any farther by Tuesday. Having a guaranteed end-date made me feel less restless; J was thrilled to be able to schedule conference calls around our hospital admission time. The plan was in place.

Today I woke up with loads of energy—not a usual occurrence at this stage of the game. As usual, my first thought was Ok, still pregnant. My second thought was Quick! What can I get done today?

I could tell you I'm ready to have this baby...but it wouldn't be true. As excited as I am to meet him, to see his face and hold him close, I don't believe there's such a thing as "ready." Ever. At this point, it’s a battle every day between my body and my brain. My aching, swollen body is more than ready to get the darn baby out already! But my brain goes into panicked overdrive at the thought of actually going into labor: Wait! Hold on! I need more time!

But then I got my invitation in the mail. A “Ladies’ Night” themed evening that promised some serious—and much needed—girl time. A night when I could straighten my hair, put on eye makeup and slip on high heels (probably for the last time until 2012.) A night when my closest friends could get together, chat uninterrupted, and eat non-baby-friendly food with two hands. No one would need help getting on the potty, no would shout “Mine mine mine,” no one would accidentally grind Goldfish into the carpet or get fingerpaint on the dog. And most of all, it would be a night just for #2, where I could focus on him and his impending arrival without his big sister crowding him out of my thoughts entirely.

Deep down I know no amount of negotiating with an unborn child will stop him from making his appearance whenever he feels like it. For his own sake, I’d like him to cook as long as possible. But if he decides to show up early (and we all know due dates are far from a perfect science) I guess I’d better have a plan in place for how, under ideal circumstances, I want to handle his delivery.