This week I sort of geeked out over 12-12-12. All the other matching dates in this past decade were cool. I mean, who could forget lucky 07-07-07? This year was different because it’s likely the last triple date we’ll have in our lifetime. It will be 01-01-01 again on January 1, 2101, but that is 89 years away. With advances in modern science I could envision living to the extremely ripe old age of 120, but it’s unlikely. Another 12-12-12 is out of the question for me.

But, not for my daughter. She could live to see it.

Upon this realization I stopped and prayed. I prayed to God my baby would live 100 more years to see the next 12-12-12 on December 12, 2112. I prayed she would celebrate her 102nd birthday the month before, surrounded by her Great-Great Grandchildren. I imagined myself as a stunningly beautiful 131-year-old angel looking down from heaven. I’d watch her wheel up to her birthday cake in a super space age wheelchair she controls with her brain. I envisioned a 22nd century Willard Scott-like person wishing her a “Happy Birthday” on whatever medium has replaced television. She will regale her posterity with stories of her silly mother who typed out tales of her child’s life on an ancient computer. I will smile and laugh at my baby turning 102.

Even as a centenarian she will still be my baby.

In case you didn’t already know.  I GEEK OUT over Christmas cards. I LOVE them!  I can’t wait to display them.  They are the only Christmasy thing I leave up well into January.  I made our card this year.  It makes me chuckle.  I find myself stealing glances at my silly little family.  It’s very “us.”

I’m worried not everyone will get the joke if they haven’t seen “Elf.”  Oh, and the “2” sort of looks like a “1” now that I look at it.  Oh well.  They’re printed now. What do you think?

Dear Catherine,

May I call you Catherine?  I hear you hate to be called “Kate”, which is insane because that’s all anyone in the entire world calls you.  They spell it with a “K” too.  Rude!  Speaking of the entire world, we all heard your wonderful news today!  Congratulations!  You’re expecting!

Rex Features

I think I speak for everyone when I say we are psyched for this kid.  I personally hope it’s a girl.  I would really love to see the clothes you dress her in.  I mean, Suri Cruise is cute in her Fendi boots, but we could use a fresh kid-style icon.

Sorry you had to make the announcement because you’re puking your guts up and you’re all dehydrated.  Morning Sickness is extremely undignified.  I feel for you.  I hope William has been holding your hair and keeping the dog out of the way as you vomit.  If I was pregnant with a royal baby I would expect my uterus to act a little more regal.

I have a favour to ask of you.  (See, I put a “u” in there.  Did that appeal to any of your British sensibilities?)  Please, please blog about your pregnancy.  Seriously.  It would be the most fantastic thing ever to hear about your gestation.  I know that’s weird.  It was weird as I typed it.

Sorry.  It’s true.  I would read every word about your acne, heartburn, sciatic pain, and birth plan.  Ooohh!  Are you gonna go natural?  I figure a Duchess could have an Evian water birth.  What about an epidural?  You could go Hollywood with a scheduled C-section.  I bet you could get any OB you want to deliver your baby.  Us commoners have to hope our favourite happens to be working the day we go into labor.  (Did you catch that “u” too?)  I imagine you have to go with some knighted doctor your Grandmother-In-Law picks.  Sorry.  I hope Sir Cervix Inspector of Wilshire is nice and lets you eat more than just ice chips.  My nurse let me have a popsicle.  You probably won’t have to pay for it.  I bet it’s covered under the fab healthcare you Brits enjoy.

I know you’re feeling lousy and hormonal and you have to get fat in front of everyone.  So, no pressure when I remind you we are dying to see your maternity clothes!  You know whatever you wear in the next nine months is going to transform maternity fashion for the next ten years.  I am not ashamed to say I’ll dress my future bump in total “Kate” fashion.

Ah!  What if you live tweeted the birth?  You know lots of women are doing that now, right?  Oh, my God the Internet would cave in on itself if you tweeted a picture of the royal baby from the hospital.  You have to tell us all what it’s like to bring your baby home to freakin’ Buckingham Palace.  I mean, who does that happen to?!? Only you girl.

In all seriousness, I really hope you start feeling better and enjoy this time.  There’s nothing like being pregnant and bringing home your baby.  Cherish it.  I know it’s different for you.  This kid is technically property of the British Empire, but YOU are the mother.  He or she may be everyone’s prince or princess, but it is your baby.

I hope you get to feeling better soon.  Consider my suggestion.  Maybe that way you can tell your own story of your baby.  We all want to share your joy.

Sincerely,

Amy

P.S.  The Olympics were great.

P.P.S.  Could you convince the Spice Girls to do a reunion World Tour?

Do you recognize one of the girls in these pictures?  Look at the one on the far left in the first picture and the one on the far right in the second.  That’s me.  Age 19 I think.  Look at how friggin’ cool I was.  I’m with my Finnish roommate, Suvi on the left.  She was an exchange student my sophomore year, and totally amazing.  I’ve tried to find her online in recent years.  No luck.  The shot on the right is me with some of my sorority sisters.  Sometimes I miss these days.

I remember going out this night.  Again, I was really friggin cool, so I used a fake ID to get into a bar with Suvi before taking her to yet another American fraternity party to meet up with my girls.  It was right after Thanksgiving break, late in November.  I always think of this night on the last day of November.

At the party I sipped on a Zima with the girls.  (Ew, I know.)  This sweaty, stumbling guy who may have been cute at the beginning of the night came up to me.  At this point he was like, eight PBR’s in.  (Ew, I know.)  Eventually he asked, “Let me get your number. When can I give you a call?”  I smiled and said. “November 31 is good.”  He slurred, “Alright! November 31, it is.  I’ll call you girl!”

Funny thing.  I never heard from the guy.

I’ve been a little pouty the past few days. I haven’t been myself. I haven’t done my best work. I’ve been putting off all these fantastic blog posts I’ve had in my head. I’ve let the house get a little messy. I haven’t felt like cooking and our family has dined on cans of soup or Gerber Toddler dinners. I may or may not have only eaten leftover pumpkin pie for dinner last night.

You know how it is. Sometimes you just feel like wearing your hair in a ponytail and throwing on your glasses instead of primping. Good Lord! Please don’t tell my mom I haven’t finished the Thank You notes from Charlotte’s birthday. It doesn’t make it any better when I see over-achieving moms on the Internet with their gorgeous photos and stunning Christmas decorations already up.

I’ve just had two days of blah. Days where I killed a few moments making pictures like this on the iPad.

I could blame it on the cold I’m fighting. In recent months we seem to be passing around the same daycare snot nose between the three of us. I could blame it on the drab, drizzly weather. I could blame it on a post-Thanksgiving carb coma.

I could, but I won’t.

This post is me clearing my head and pulling myself up. I’m capable of more than mediocrity and I’m better than the blahs. I’m better than some lame-o who doesn’t do her best or compares herself to other people online. We have a great holiday planned and I have high hopes for 2013. With the sniffles waning, my body is begging for some exercise.

Deep breath. Shake it off. Let’s do this.