The bun is almost fully cooked

As of last Thursday, Seamus is considered to be "full-term" -- i.e., if he were born today, he would not be considered premature, even though the full forty weeks aren't up until the 18th.

I have a feeling that this magical 37-week border between pre-term and full-term is not as hard and fast as the literature written for the general public would suggest, but nevertheless, we felt relieved. We may even have breathed a clichéd "sigh of relief" or two. We made it!

Actually, we had a more practical reason than most parents to feel relieved: our midwives won't do the homebirth until after 37 weeks. Seamus is now cleared for landing. (Wait, is he a bun or a plane? ... I can't keep track of my metaphors at this late hour.)

We finally "interviewed" a kid-doctor today, at this really cool holistic medical center near Madison Square Park (which, confusingly, is over a mile away from Madison Square Garden). I'll let Greta write more about the doc, but I give her a thumbs-up just for the location: you know that Seamus and I will be taking extra-long on our doctor's visits in order to squeeze in a trip to the Shake Shack: the apotheosis of fast food, and the only place in NYC to get a real Chicago hot dog. (I'm hoping they'll be offering a veggie-dog version this year ... sorry for this blasphemous hope, Sandlins.)

Time for bed ... I am seriously jonesing for sugar right now, since this is probably the first night since Thanksgiving that I haven't stuffed my pie-hole full of cookies and/or chocolate after dinner. But I shall resist ...