When I got to the duffel designated specifically for Ella, I tucked in a baby doll, snacks, her gift from her little sister, her big-sister T-shirt and a pair of jeans, some PJs (in case this baby wants to come in the middle of the night), and a few special toys and crayons we'd tucked away so they become really special when it was time to keep her entertained during 8 centimeters and counting.
And then I went to her bookshelf. You see, we don't leave the house without a small library. Ella adores books. And she reads to herself if no one can read to her. So I wanted to make sure her favorite form of entertainment was on tap for my parents if the wooden beads, doll clothes, and Mr. Potato Head weren't holding her.
But as I was debating whether or not to pack some Llama Llama books versus the classic Eric Carle's, it hit me.
For this occasion, we needed big-sister books.
We had checked out a few at the library and read them awhile back.
But lately, we had only talked about "Sissy Baby" and hadn't read up much on her.
So, that night, I turned to trusty Amazon Pr*me and lickety-split ordered five books that talked about having a new baby and being a big sister for the cheap, which would be delivered to my door two days later.
They were right on time, and Thursday at 5 p.m., the doorbell rang, and there was the box of books.
My husband was home, and he and Ella rushed to the door; they both have that child-like giddiness when it comes to getting mail, and especially packages, even if it just my standard bottle of pre-natal vitamins.
He opened the box with Ella peering in by his side, and she squealed with glee at each book he handed her.
I started toward the kitchen to finish dinner, when I heard the hubs say, "Uh, babe?"
I turned around to find him holding a book.
"Are we already trying to teach her a second language? Don't you think we should focus on helping her transition to big sister first?"
"What?" I replied, not even glancing at what he was holding. "That book is called 'I'm a Big Sister.' It's perfect for her age!"
Two steps away from stirring the spaghetti sauce on the stove, I hear it again.
"Uh, babe. Try again."
I huff back into the living room to see him holding this:
I wasn't even sure what to say. I wasn't even sure how I'd done it.
I'd bought four other books in English. And then one in Spanish. And despite four years of it, I barely speak that language.
I blame baby brain.
Or, in this case, cerebro el bebe.
No baby yet.
If she'd been like her sister, she would have been born in the early hours of this morning.
And we can all see how that turned out.
Of course, I am now getting anxious, even though there are two more weeks till my actual due date.
Heck. Who am I kidding? I'm slowly losing my mind in this waiting game.
She got me going pretty good yesterday to no avail. Which then basically assured for me that she's staying in there forever.
And thank God.
Because I'm not sure her sister understands what's going on, anyway, considering her guidebook is written Spanish.