Saturday morning cartoons

. . . not really. I'm just sitting at the kitchen table pondering the pros and cons of mopping the house, but I figured I'd blog about it first.

So we took these pictures the other night. Mercer has since shaved his head. Which is probably a good thing, because the baby might've got skeered if Mercer had hair and then suddenly didn't. But maybe tiny babies don't care so much about such things anyhow. Turns out Mercer and I had similar hair-induced shock experiences growing up: when both of us were about two, our moms decided to get perms, and we both freaked out 'cause in our toddler brains, mom had straight hair, not curly, so the curly hair lady wasn't any mom of ours. Of course a decade later my mom used this as evidence that I in fact hated perms; consequently, I was the only straighthaired girl in school in 1991. My hair was so straight I couldn't even get my bangs to feather. This, in fact, may be the source of my current PTSD: growing up permless in the small-town South.

Here's the baby scoop. We're about a week past the due date at this point and were initially scheduled for induction Monday night, but we didn't really feel good about inducing at just over 41 weeks so we are now scheduled for induction next Saturday night. I hope the baby decides to emerge before then--I'm feeling very anti-induction. I know mentally the due date's just a guesstimate window of when labor could begin, but it's still hard not to think about dates and lateness and most of all to be patient. At the same time I kind of feel like the more time that goes by when birth cold be happening the less imminent it all feels. I'll be an incubator forever!

Every time I listen to my IPod on shuffle, songs I didn't know existed come on, and then I can never find them again.