D-Day Countdown Begins.

I don't think I've been this excited about something since I was seven years old. It was Christmas Eve, and I was sleeping in my big sister's bed (she was NOT down for co-sleeping under any other circumstances), and my parents had just left the room after reading us 'Twas the Night Before Christmas and kissing our foreheads. That was the last Christmas I remember feeling that genuine, palpable nervousness over Santa Claus' imminent arrival. Every year after that it became less magical and more about waking up in the morning to get stuff. My sister and I lay in bed for hours trying to sleep, and even though she was old enough to see past the big Christmas lie she wasn't too old to play along for my benefit. It was perfect.

(And now, at 23 years old, I've obviously been enlightened to the real goings-on of Christmas. Even more, I've become more chained by religious obligation; I've wrestled with the decision of celebrating a holiday a love and that I grew up with even though I'm Jewish. The reality of it sucks out all the magic. That's something I really look forward to with having my own child, the ability to experience, even just vicariously, the magic of the holidays, secular or not.)

It's now Finding-out-the-Sex-Day Eve Eve Eve. On Monday, we go for the big ultrasound. Bright and early at 8 am. I'll be awake at 5. If I can sleep at all that night, because it's days away and I barely can now.

It will also mean that I'm officially halfway there. I just choked on my water a little bit.