June 1st was the estimated launch date for Project Wallaby, but it turns out first babies tend to come a bit later than expected and we may have as much as a week left before birth. Meanwhile, the “What To Expect” app’s size comparison feature has been cycling through various melons.
Amy is handling the slings and arrows of late pregnancy admirably, and we’ve been getting the house and nursery ready for its new resident. Furniture is all placed, shelves and changing table are securely anchored.
Amy’s also been great about getting cheap baby clothes and toys at consignment sales, and the closet is stocked with baby apparel, good from newborn to 12 months.
We’ve attended prenatal classes at the health center to work on our swaddling and diapering skills.
We have our travel system (a Chicco Bravo Trio) with an infant seat that can snap into a stroller or a car seat base. It even fits in our small cars, the Ford Fiesta and the Fiat 500 (with the front passenger seat pushed far forward.)
And I’ve assembled the Mamaroo robotic baby rocker.
Despite all this preparation I’m still floating through a haze of unreality about impending fatherhood. Other dads have told me it really doesn’t sink in till birth itself — and then it’ll be sleepless nights of poop and crying for months of what will seem like eternity. I take some comfort from the Chainsawsuit comic “a poop shortfall.”
