Waiting has never been my strong suit. Perhaps that’s why being a reporter and pushing to get information first and fast suits me so well.

I don’t relish anticipation. Take for example the lead up to Christmas morning. I know there will be gifts, but I don’t know anything past that and mulling the options in my mind while I wait to open the shiny packages is torture.

Waiting for Bob’s arrival is like that. I have so many unanswered questions. What color will Bob’s eyes be? How much will Bob weigh? Will Bob be healthy? Will Bob be a boy? A girl? A hearty eater? A sound sleeper (please, pretty please)?

All the tidying, washing and organizing is finished. The rocking chair and crib are in place. The extra cell phone charger and clothes are in a bag to take to the hospital.

There are no last-minute to-dos to distract me from wondering when contractions will begin. Every time Bob punches, kicks or stretches I hold my breath … waiting … for something more to come.

Granted, I have a week between me and Bob’s official due date. My doctor keeps reminding me that’s just a guess.

Bob could come any moment. Or not.

So far it’s been not … and I’m still waiting …

I’ve done everything I can think of to speed up the process.

I floated the river, twice. I’ve walked and jumped vigorously in water aerobics. I even tried the fail-proof house-cleaning rampage.

Tuesday Jared had a 48 hour reprieve from the harvest field. I told Bob to hurry up and come while Jared was home to save him from having to drive back to Gildford and then home again. Bob didn’t listen.

On the bright side, all this waiting has answered the question of whether Bob will be stubborn or not. Definitely stubborn.