I have 12 more days of work.
My due date is in 10 weeks.
Holy hell. Shit’s getting really real.
We still have not heard a word about Hubby’s work permit, and probably won’t until early next month, when it’s ready to go. At which point, we will be at least 10 days from ready to go.
The big, big boss at work keeps teasing me about this baby being born in the US. My fear is that she’ll be born on the road, somewhere between here and Montreal. I keep talking to her, telling her to stay in there at least until my due date. If not longer. I was supposedly born a month late (according to my mother), and I would be totally fine with her being late, too (says the woman who’s a good 7 weeks from full term and all the discomforts that come with it).
We’ve put packing and apartment hunting on hold, but it may be time to start up again.
We have a lot to do, things we’ve known we need to do for months now, but haven’t bothered with until we get closer to actually (finally! for real this time!) moving.
I’ve started telling families when my last day at work and/or my last visit with them will be. This week, with this never-ending cold, my last day can’t come soon enough. But I’m sure I’ll feel different about it all the closer it gets. And I’ll definitely miss my team. And some of my families. And most of my kids.
On to bigger and better things. Right?