Men Don't Nest. Or Do They?Monica Bielanko
I’m nearly 39 weeks. I’ve got a doctor appointment in a couple hours.
As I mentioned last week, he said I’m dilated to a two and 60% effaced. Oh, and my cervix is “super squishy”.
I’m anxious to see if I’ve progressed any because I’d like to meet my son. Oh yeah, and also?
I CANNOT SPEND ANOTHER DAY WADDLING AROUND DEALING WITH BRAXTON HICKS CONTRACTIONS AND LEAKING PEE EVERYWHERE.
Not to mention the nights. The nights are brutal.
Yesterday Serge started hanging up stuff in KID B’s room. A painting, a map, but not the letters spelling out his name because my mom is coming to watch Violet while my cervix gets molested by my doctor and we aren’t even telling her the name until the little dude gets here.
Okay, okay. I will tell you one of the top five names we decided NOT to name him.
We decided not to name him Serge. And I always thought we would. I dig the name (pronounced surge as in surge protector not sir-gay) It’s unusual and he’d be the third Serge Bielanko in a row. But we aren’t naming him Serge.
So anyway, last night Serge was in KID B’s room, a flurry of tape measuring and hammering and drilling ensued.
“Are you nesting?” I asked.
“What’s nesting?” He wanted to know.
“Getting sh*t ready for when The Kid comes.”
“Okay. Then I’m not ‘nesting’. I’m getting sh*t ready for when The Kid comes.”
We are ready.
So listen. I’m going to head to the doctor and see what he has to say and then I’ll be back later tonight to give you the update.
Another photo that is not the result of ‘nesting’, according to Serge.