Dear baby,

I don't mind that you are 8 days late. I won't even mind when we hit the 14 day mark, which I'm feeling at this point will most assuredly happen. But baby, lets please try to avoid 21 days. We will lose any chance at doing this song and dance naturally and will be sent to the hospital. Not only that, but you will probably rip my body in half if you wait until then for your grand appearance. Your dad tells you 8 times a day that he can't wait for you to come and I promise we will take at least equally good care of you as that suffocating sack of a room you've been living in for the past 41+ weeks. We are trying to not take it personally that you prefer the sharp edges of my ribs, the bitter taste of amniotic fluid, and the dark and gloomy red walls of my uterus to Utah's finest URBAN LIVING! We even got you this sweet bed with a penguin! (which ps, you're going to have to make work for at least 6 months, but you like tight spaces so no worries there).



So baby, please come out soon. We are really nice people. We don't know what the freak we are doing but you won't mind. Enjoy your last couple days with everything you've known up to this point and we'll do the same and then we can take this all on together. And baby when you come, please try to pull your weight around here.

See you soon (remember, that means 12 days or less),
Your mother.