My due date is tomorrow. You should've seen my lawyer's eyes widen as I told him that during our 1:00 meeting today. Tomorrow is November 5th. Guy Fawkes Day. It would be very cool for my son to arrive tomorrow, as “Guy” was my grandpa's name, and the name I'd be known by, had I been born a boy. Of course, had I been born a boy, my father's first words to my infant self would not have been “where's the penis?” So I'd be missing out on that little bit of family history.

Actually, it seems that very few children are actually due on one's due date, which is OK, too, because My Favorite Mother ™ is arriving tomorrow evening. I've been let off the hook from picking her up — four hours in the car is just a little more than I can physically handle right now — so it'll be Brian traveling solo to Logan Airport, unless I actually *do* go into labor, in which case my friend Emily will make the trip.

I think we're all set for a houseguest, and all set for a baby (the most permanent of houseguests 🙂 — the only thing I still need to buy are some drinking straws, as apparently it is nigh impossible to drink from a cup while nursing a baby.

While shopping for last-minute houseguest items (foam egg-crate thing to render the futon more comfortable, as well as an extra pillow) this afternoon, I totally bumped my backside into a nice old man at Target's book aisle today. I apologized for my girth, which he admired, saying “Looking for a novel to help you forget your troubles?” I smiled at him and said I wasn't sure whether my troubles were just ending, or just beginning.

Guess we'll see…