Any second now, our lives are going to change forever. In fact, today is D-Day, and if our little bun doesn’t roll out of the oven on his own today he’ll be kicked out. Not feeling anxious at the thought of that at all. (Note, sarcasm).

Convinced he was arriving early and advised by seasoned professionals that it was a good idea, I stopped going in to work 2 weeks ago. 2 weeks ago.

I have cleaned. Napped. Cooked. Prepped. Organised. I know exactly what’s happening in everyone’s lives courtesy of infinite Facebook, Twitter and Instagram refreshes. I’ve bookmarked a lot of articles and actually read a few, too, all in preparation for my big return to work (in a whole ‘new’ position). I’ve mastered Solitaire and Two Dots, read a book (this one) and re-read a few preggie-related ones. Pre-ordered Scrappy Little Nobody on the off chance I’ll get to read it at some point during motherhood. There’s really nothing left to do, but have a baby.

I was told to sleep and freeze a few meals, but sleep isn’t something that lasts more than an hour and a half for me at the moment (so a baby waking up every 4 will be an amazing improvement) and we’re pretty good at the quick-quick dinners around here. It’s what everyone learns when they move to Joburg and start focusing hard on work, right?

So… can this baby arrive already? Naturally? Roll on 3pm, I’m ready to find out what being induced entails and, you know, become a parent.

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