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Another weekend has come and gone — I’m officially full-term at 37 weeks, baby! — with nary a peep from Sir Baby Freedom. Nope, no peeps despite doing most everything my doctors had told me to avoid during bed rest, including resuming my (downsized) caffeine habit and lugging Lazy Princess Skylar up and down our never-ending stairs, and even up and down a not-exactly-small sand dune in Malibu this weekend. Freedom seems to be in no hurry to come out now, most likely because he read the disappointing reviews for The Hangover Part II. Not to mention he’s gotten rather cozy in his current digs, setting up his Barcalounger directly on my sciatic nerve. It feels AWESOME. Especially when it sends shooting pains down my butt and turns my legs into Jell-O in the middle of Pinkberry, nearly making me toss my cup of mango frozen yogurt into my crotch. Oh well. At least it would have disguised the fact that I had peed my pants from a mere sneeze minutes before.
I know, I know… I’ve never been sexier. But really. What pregnant woman hasn’t had somebody stare at her crotch and wonder, Pee or mango?*
As the Baby Freedom Arrival countdown continues, I thought that you betting pool entrants might like to see where you stand against the competition**. In the event that he should arrive on a day with multiple entrants in a time frame that was not selected, then his birth weight will serve as the tie-breaker. Just click on the spreadsheet to enlarge and scoff at your competition’s guesses.
*Don’t look at me like that. At least I didn’t mention the swirl option.
**Smack-talking amongst entrants is highly encouraged by The Blog. Especially when you’re able to work in a mention of pee or mango. Bonus points for mentioning the swirl option.