I’m thinking of naming my unborn son “Willie”.

 

Not because it’s a family name or because I’m a huge Roald Dahl fan or even because I particularly like the name.

 

No, I’m thinking of naming him Willie because I spend every day wondering, “willie or won’tie”.  And so far, he won’t. 

 

Technically, I’m not due for another 5 days, and my due date has already been moved up by two weeks from it’s original estimate of September 10, but really, now, it’s starting to get ridiculous.  I’ve gained over 50 pounds (almost 23 kilograms for anyone who isn’t an American and/or was born after 1980), my back hurts, I spend 20 minutes every day between 2:30 and 3:00 PM fighting the urge to fall asleep sitting up at my desk.  I’m also curious as hell what the little bugger’s going to look like (I know he’ll look like Winston Churchill to everyone else, but I, as his mother, will know differently).  But mostly I’m just fat, tired and uncomfortable.

 

My hair and nails are fabulous, though.