This weekend I got a little obsessed with baby-readiness. We had decided not to set the alarm for Saturday morning because neither of us needed to go to work, so I was excited about sleeping in. However, the cats and my bladder were not as excited about this, so I ended up waking up just before 7am anyhow. Bugger. I snuck out of bed and went down to the piano room, where we've been storing all of the baby stuff. I decided that I needed to assemble everything. Partially because I wanted to make sure things hadn't gotten damaged in shipping (Babies R Us is pretty sucky at shipping - nearly EVERY BOX we've recieved has been partially open when we got it because it wasn't taped very well to start with), partially because some of the things would take up less room assembled and folded up than they would in their boxes, and partially because I've been overcome by this sense of impending doom about entering the third trimester and not getting everything done in time for the baby. So I unpacked a bunch of stuff and put together the high chair (not like we're going to need that for a while, but it folds up pretty compactly). Brian came down about an hour and a half later and helped me by assembling the stroller and the pack-and-play. Everything was in good shape, thankfully, and if we have a baby tomorrow, it will have somewhere to sleep (the pack-and-play doubles as a bassinet), a car seat, and a stroller.
Later that afternoon I went to visit my friend from work who just had her baby. She told me her labor story, emphasizing the fact that she lived through it, so I feel a bit better. Well, until we get to prepared birth classes anyhow. I remember she freaked out a little bit after those. Actually though, she said she used some of the techniques from that to help her out before she got her epidural (her labor was going pretty slowly, so it was a while) and that they actually worked. She also said that once she got the epidural it was like she returned to earth without having even realized that she had been completely out of it, on the planet of pain.
Yesterday I spent the morning editing Brian's grant application. I'm weird, and I like editing. Don't think that means you should send me all of your draft manuscripts. You should at least read my last two papers and see if you hate them. Seriously, if science doesn't work out for me, and my second career choice of 'Britney Spears, but less trashy' doesn't either, then I will become an editor. And someone who makes figures and slides for other peoples talks. I like doing that too. Then I realized that I had left another baby-readiness issue untended to: selection of nursery paint color. So I busted out all of the paint chips and picked one. Phew.
Then Brian and I watched a movie I hadn't seen since high school, Harold and Maude. I had forgotten a lot about it but it was coming back to me while I watched it. Its such a strange, funny movie - in a very black way. My favorite part is when Harold pretends to set himself on fire in front of his blind date. When his mother gives him a Jaguar XKE, he paints it black and turns it into a hearse. Brian and I both noted that my dad would have been having a heart attack if he had seen that. Although, I liked it better after he painted it black (my dad's is black too). It was gray at first, and I wasn't a fan.
This morning Brian woke up very tired because he was nervous about teaching his first class of the year, which was suppossed to be at 8:45 this morning. He went into work pretty early and called me to tell me that he didn't have class after all because there had been a fire in the building the class was in. Hm! It was unclear how bad the fire was, but he walked down and looked at the building and it doesn't seem as if it was too bad. Still, its a research building so there are lots of labs there, and I'm sure that the fire will cause huge problems for them. Problems maybe worse than shipping your entire mouse colony out to North Carolina and having the guys at the airport open the shipping crates, let some of the mice escape, round the rest back up and put them randomly in the shipping crates so that you can no longer tell who is who, exposing them to whatever so that they have to spend the next three months in quarantine, after which point they're too old to breed, so you lose the mutation you'd been trying to identify, thus screwing up your last four years of thesis research. Wow. I'm still bitter about that!