So there is this joke in the technical world I work in that if asked, you should always respond things will be done in two weeks. That conversation goes likes this.
Manager: “When will project A be done?”
Worker: “Two weeks.”
*Two weeks pass*
Manager: “You said it would be done in two weeks.”
Worker: “I didn’t say two weeks from when.”
Or if they lock you down to “Two weeks from Wednesday” you can always comeback with “I didn’t say what year.”
Katie and I are in the position of knowing when Six will be born. If you asked me today when he is going to be born I would tell you two weeks and that wouldn’t be a lame joke used by overworked tech people.
It was almost one week. Things are great with Six, but Katie hasn’t felt the best so they did some testing to see what was up. The high risk Doc told us if the tests came back positive, we’d be going to the hospital as soon as Week 37 (Swiss chard for those playing the home vegetable game) got here. Yesterday was the beginning of Week 36 (Romaine lettuce) so that would have been one week out. She also told us if the tests were negative in all likelihood we would be heading to the hospital at the beginning of Week 38 (leek).
The tests came back negative. This was great for a few reasons.
– It allows Six to hang out in the womb for another few weeks.
– If we had gone in at Week 37 that was a guaranteed C-section. It still may happen, but at Week 38 we have the chance it won’t be needed.
– It gives me two more weeks to play the new Destiny expansion, Rise of Iron. (Just kidding.)
Side note: A lot of fathers have told me that their gaming time actually increased after having a kid. They’d make a baby burrito, strap the kid to their chest and then play with no sound or headphones. The kid passes out and Dad gets to save the world from an alien invasion. I wasn’t worried about my gaming time, but that’s nice to know.
So, two weeks.
Two weeks is 14 days is 336 hours is 20160 minutes is 1,209,600 seconds. And if I was being pedantic I would tell you that it is also 1.2096E+15 nanoseconds.
Two weeks. This all seemed so far away when we found out we were pregnant just 12 weeks ago. And yet… it’s flew by. 13 weeks ago I was planning a trip next Summer across Route 66. Today I’m wondering how long it will take before I find out what regurgitated baby food will taste like when through an unfortunate coincidence of timing and physical placement our boy ends up puking in my mouth. (Still gotta be better than pink Starburst.)
Our world changed when we found out we had a biker bun in the oven. It’s gonna and change again and soon. Lately when I talk to the boy I’ve been telling him “Not yet, it’s not time.” Tonight I’m gonna get near him, my lips on my wife’s belly, and I’m gonna tell him the words I never thought I’d say with so much joy, so much love.
I’m gonna get in close and tell my son: “Two weeks.”