Warning: Pregnancy Brain - Speak SLOWLY and CLEARLY!

So yeah, I'm kind of impatient. I think it's the beginning of week 40 now. I don't know, I'm "due" this Friday. It turns out "pregnancy brain" makes it hard for you to keep track of what week you're in. Makes it hard for me at least. The pregnancy book we got from the hospital says something about how it will be "hard for (me) to understand complex dialogue" while in labor, so everybody had better keep their utterances short and simple. I hope the doctor can communicate whatever he needs to via grunting. Or maybe Baby Sign! I know those books are supposed to be informative and supportive, but whatever. Just sounds misogynistic to me.

So I started this blog to give myself something to do so that I don't go stir crazy waiting, and also so that I can remember stuff from this period once I am no longer permitted to sleep. Hopefully it will motivate me to do a good job documenting Gabriel's early life. Before he was born we called him Cranny Wolfgang. Mostly to drive our parents (and other relatives and friends) crazy not knowing what his real name would be. The backstory to his prepartum name is... well, it just kind of came to me one day. It suits a larval human in utero whose hobbies include kicking me a lot, squeezing my bladder with his tiny fingers, nomming all my iron, and occasionally rocking out to music. Ben says that in the Old Country, his full name was "Cranbort" with an umlaut or a slash thru the "o" or something equally Nordically goofy, but unfortunately his name was hopelessly and irrevocably Americanized at Ellis Island. Now it is "Cranford"? I think? Or maybe "Cranibald"? If Cranny's future prom date is reading this, well, I must apologize to my boy. Have fun at the prom and don't do anything stupid!

My 5 year old nephew Zachary has finally grasped the fact that he is going to have a new cousin named Cranny. He shares the name with whoever asks, including his preschool teacher, who I am sure at this point thinks we are CRAZY. According to Zach, apparently the name "Cranny" is silly, but the name "Zachary" is decidedly not. Zach has reluctantly bequeathed some of HIS baby toys to Cranny, like the brightly colored plastic things that move and spin and rattle. I can't imagine they hold a candle to Zhu Zhu pets or Transformers, but you NEVER know when they might come in handy. Of course, Zach also thinks Cranny will be my mom's new cousin. Family relationships are confusing!