Day 7. It’s been a full week now. I mean, come on Old Man! You made the world in this amount of time and even managed to give yourself a day off. How long does it take for you to bake one baby?

We’re stepping gingerly through a bit of a logistical panic zone at the moment. Both Heather and I forgot that our son’s daycare is closed today, for the Memorial Day weekend, I guess. If we stay in this holding pattern, it’s no big deal. Heather’s not working any more, so she can look after our three-year old, but if she *does* go into labor, we’re not sure we have anyone to watch him till after 3 pm today. This is awkward. I’m pretty sure Declan doesn’t want to be in the room watching while his little brother or sister comes into the world.

Come late afternoon, early evening, we should be covered. And tomorrow my mother-in-law is driving over the pass from Spokane to help out and also to give Declan his birthday party. That’s right, his birthday is almost here, introducing the very significant probability that the two kids will share one. Heather is horrified by this prospect, while I, on the other hand, think it’s kinda cool.

In case you’re wondering, the weather is abso-friggin-lootely glorious here in Seattle. Every so often this city sheds her gray woolen dress and shows off her glorious sapphire-and-emerald nakedness. And when she does, it’s damned difficult for anyone to concentrate on work that doesn’t involve gardening, sailing or barbecue. Still, I’m stuck for the time being in my glass tower cubicle-cell, snoozing every task that pops up in Outlook.

Heather’s main plan for the day is to fill Declan’s wading pool and let the sun warm it for a few hours before he plays in it. This will represent the inaugural filling of the wading pool for the season. I’m only sorry I can’t be there to sit my fat ass down in it and hog all the water, tallboy Bud in hand.

Then again, maybe I should ease back a bit on the drinking. A martini last night, so refreshing on the spring’s hottest evening so far, turned into a glass of wine and three beers. I’ve got that not so fresh feeling this morning, and nothing but an evening watching bad television slightly buzzed to show for it. It’d be one thing if I was hurting after a night of say, shooting the unholy shit with Iceowl, but . . . I’m better off stopping at one stiff one these days if just gonna be me. I’m worn-out and it’s not like the sleep-deprivation situation is gonna get any better in the near future. Nope. I got to shape up a bit. Start working out and biking regularly again, and most importantly, meditating every day like I had been for a good long while there.

That said, I made a run to the Washington State Liquor Store earlier this morning to pick up fifths of vodka and MacCallan, just to make sure I have something eminently decent to toast my new baby with. I am what I am after all.

Update (three hours later): apparently Declan refuses to get in the wading pool because it’s not in the shade. He insists that his mother moves it. Now the wading pool filled with water probably weighs about 125 pounds. We’ve already established just how pregnant my wife is. Ergo: my son’s being a butt. But then again, he’s three, so being a butt is only natural. He’s also already had three time-outs today and isn’t even noon. Perhaps he senses there’s change in the offing?