T-minus 10 … 9 … 8 … 7 Just waiting for blast off here at the Thompson house. Today, Dec. 23, is the due date El Doctor set all those months ago for young Baby T’s arrival. As you read this, one of three things will have happened. Could be I’m at home with the little one, learning how to change diapers and swaddle, as well as saying things I’ll get punished for like, “She spits up like a drunken sailor!” and “Would the baby like some roast beef?” Could be I’m in the hospital uttering the often repeated, “Now, honey, remember what we learned in birthing class … ‘cus I forgot everything.” Could be the baby hasn’t come yet and Nancy’s on the sofa with that look on her face that screams, “Call the paramedics and ask if they’ll bring the jaws of life.” Who knows? As the doctor tells us: “Baby’s gonna’ come when baby’s gonna come.” You went to medical school for that? The wait — the anticipation! — is killing me, and I’m not even the one with a baby in my belly. (Although Nancy has suggested duct taping a 60-pound bag of cement to my front so I can get the full experience.) It’s all frustrating, but also very exciting. Not that the kid is late. As I’m writing this column, she’s still 3 days from her due date. But I’m worried we’ll have to deliver on Christmas Eve when I hear it’s all do-it-yourself … Continue reading Waiting on the ‘T’