Zippo.

That's right, folks. You haven't seen anything interesting in the past nine days because there's been nothing interesting to report. Last Friday's doctor visit? "See you next year!" He says. Ha! Well, the baby was at "minus 3" (apparently the Johnson Space Center worked with obstetricians to determine launch of the infant) last week, and now it's at "minus 2" and counting.

I guess we shouldn't be too disappointed. After all, the due date isn't until Monday, so there's still time for jumping jacks, rides in the sidecar, climbing the stairs at the Empire State Building.... A little girl at one of the schools said her mom tried cod liver oil and vodka. "It didn't work, and she said it was a waste of vodka."

Since the "GO!" bags are packed for Kristin, Lily, and me, let's turn our attention to that enormous throbbing-red Hazmat can we bought for the diapers.

It has "Danger, Will Robinson!" written all over it, and it holds way too much to be safe for indoor air quality no matter how well it seals, but since the diaper battle goes to the disposables, we needed someplace upstairs to hold the toxins until we're nearly asphyxiated.

Maybe I should show you the before photo of the baby's dresser, but I'm too lazy to go take a picture of it now. I saw some interesting painted furniture in a store up the Hudson, and thought I'd emulate it for the baby's room. I bought an unpainted piece, and it's about to go under the brush. Keep your fingers crossed that it gets done before the child is picking out his or her own clothes.

Until we have some serious effacing, dilation, or contractions less than five minutes apart, have a Merry Christmas and (just in case) a Happy New Year!