“Mommy Smart, have you taken your CPR class?”

“Why yes (insert random NICU nurse name here, we know them all by now anyway), yes we did, just last week.”

“That’s good mommy, because he’s coming home soon.”

SAY WHA?

Yep. That was my afternoon at the NICU. And it was just about enough to get my heart really racing. I mean, I am super excited to have him home while simultaneously being utterly terrified of his incredible tininess and stinkiness and well, everything else. But most scary of all to me is the current state of our apartment.

You see. Since August 13th Arch and I have been living in various bedrooms, pretty much doing all of our eating, sleeping, working etc from one 10×13 foot room. When Arch and I first met we and Hollis lived in only a slightly larger studio on Bleeker street. We were just joking that we don’t need all these other rooms and we should downsize, but I digress…

For those of you just tuning in – we started demolition August 13th, I went into the hospital August 14th, Jack was born on August 27th and we spent a month at the lovely Lindberg’s and then moved into our mostly finished apartment on October 1st. The only thing left to do when we moved back in was the kitchen floors. Until the kitchen is complete, we can not unpack the living room and all of our crap from the living room currently resides in Jack’s room. Yes, the logic escapes me too, but it made sense when we planned it.

Anyhoo, the floor guy? He screwed up the floor 3 TIMES. He finally got it right. Today.

I truly and deeply hate the floor guy.

So having survived the 7th ring of hell, I am thrilled to announce that we will FINALLY be unpacking all of our crap from the last several months tomorrow night. And the dust, oh we can finally rid ourselves of the fucking dust (sorry Emily, the dust gives me potty mouth). And we can FINALLY begin to put the boy’s room together. If I showed you a picture of what his room looks like right now you’d recoile from the screen in horror.

So, I guess that the good news is that even his nurses, the ones who never, ever say anything positive, believe he’s coming home soon. But the boy? Just to spite me? 4 pound 14.5 ounces. Flirting dangerously with the big 5 pounds. Oh he’s a tricky one my son.

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