There is a phase of pregnancy that typically occurs in the final weeks before the birth known as “nesting”. During this time, the expectant mother enjoys a burst of energy which she uses to prepare her home for the new baby. Considering that I’ve spent the last few days cleaning out the house, vaccuming and mopping floors, flipping load after load of laundry, putting together the bassinet and arranging baby clothes, stocking up on birth supplies and doing prep cooking and shopping for the weeks, post-baby, when I’m out of commission, I think we can safely conclude that I am, in fact, nesting.

That said, after a vigorous mopping of almost the entire upstairs, L.B. has decided to hunker down in my pelvis, making me feel like a steamship that just released anchor. So, I’m taking a little breather while Yonah wanders around, chattering like a monkey in a constant stream of toddlerized monologue. For the most part, he sounds like a meeting of the U.N. without the interpreter speaking underneath, but once in a while he’ll throw in some choice English phrases: “Mama”, “Tata” (Shuie), “Mina” (Sima Ellie), “Wadee” (water), “Peh-too” (pretzel), “Oh, Wow!”, “Uh-Oh”, “A, B, C, A, B, C” and my personal favorite… “Eight, Nine, Ten…Yay!”. Who needs TV when you’ve got Yonah?

My midwives Becca and Amanda are coming by today to do an official “homebirth visit”, even though they’ve both been here already and we’ve pretty much covered all the basics. The plan at this point is for me to labor in the tub for as long as I want, though in the throes of it I may decide I’m more comfortable someplace else. The interesting thing about planning a homebirth is that there are so many unknowns: how and where I’ll handle labor, where the baby will actually be born, how the first few days will be, etc. While I don’t actually want a hospital birth, one thing I will say for their set-up is that you pretty much know what to expect. In my case, I’ll plan as much as I can and the rest I’ll have to let go until it’s time.

One thing floating around my busy brain is whether or not I would be able to spend six hours a week this June taking one of the most formidable of nursing prerequisites, Statistics, at Cape Cod Community College. While I would like to get it out of the way, whenever I think of it I remember what Elana, my tutor in Israel, told me about mothers with young children: for the few years they are in the thick of raising their little people, mothers’ I.Q.s go down significantly, but go up again when the kids are a little bit older. Knowing myself now, compared to two years ago, I have no doubt that that’s true. With that in mind I envision myself sitting in this statistics class, staring absently into space, leaking milk and drooling while the teacher from Charlie Brown drones incomprehensibly in the background. Not the most auspicious beginning for a new career. Luckily, I have until May 28th to decide, so we’ll see if I’m remotely close to having my bearings gathered by then.

I’m afraid to get out of my chair lest LB suddenly decide to make a quick entrance, but I must if I don’t want Yonah to have a meltdown for not reading him “Hop on Pop” for the umpteenth time today. And so, amongst a symphony of screaming, I leave you…