Yep. It's the final countdown. And I don't mean that in a Swedish glam metal band called Europe kind of way, either. (If you're old enough, you'll know what the hell I'm talking about.)
We have made it to week 36. The R.A. is set to arrive in four weeks. Oh holy Zeus, we might not be entirely ready. For instance, our kid's room has no flooring, just scarred concrete sub-flooring that we found when we ripped the carpet out many moons ago. We don't have a changing station, although one has been ordered. We haven't yet landed on a name. I haven't created a phone tree. The crib we decided to get is on backorder. Zeus only knows when the mattress will be in. The hospital bag isn't packed. We haven't checked the camera batteries to ensure they are charged. The tires on the stroller need to be pumped up. And I haven't joined Netflix.
At least we have a car seat so we'll be able to get the lil' bugger home.