Self-portrait (for the boy)

Oh, son, you've been such a question mark the past two weeks. Did I tell you that the hospital called me today to check on me, to check on you? After confirming that I'm not in labor, the hospital official warned me: "Don't go into labor. If you do go into labor, do not drive in to the hospital. We've had three women deliver on the side of the road already today. Call 911 and come in by ambulance. But just don't go into labor."

You've been a question mark. This series of storms has been an exclamation point. You know what people really mean when they start typing a bunch of punctuation marks together, don't you, son?

So you hang tight, as instructed. We'll ride out this storm, and then we'll talk. Everyone keeps telling me I'll have so much to tell you about; just look at the last few posts here to see pictures of all this snow. You've had a lot of people on edge. Your birth story will never be told without highlighting the Blizzards of 2010.

So, my love, my youngest, the One Who Shall Not Yet Emerge, this picture is for you. I'm 40 weeks and 5 days pregnant with you, and the snow on our back porch is over my belly button. It's over your still-inside-me head. This is your birth story, still unfolding:

And it's still snowing, but I wanted to take this picture while there was still a little light. It's still snowing, and it's expected to keep on snowing, so you and I? Let's keep cuddling.

Burgers on the grill?

Maybe not tonight.

Blizzard conditions are expected to continue for eight more hours.