While browsing a pregnancy-related message board I frequent – on which the general craziness and all-out hormone raging of the majority of posters there could be a whole other post – I’ve been seeing the term “35/35″ popping up without really knowing what it meant. But I finally figured it out in the shower this morning.

35 weeks down. 35 days to go.

And that’s where we’re at, kids. As of today, I am 35 weeks pregnant and have 35 days left until my due date. And I’m of two minds about it.

We’re “ready” for the baby in the sense that we feel up to the task of being parents and feel we could reasonably avoid situations that might result in the little guy’s untimely passing. We’ve read the books. We’ve taken the classes. We know the important “do’s” and “don’ts” and are comfortable with feeling our way along for the rest. I’m not intimidated by a lack of sleep or a fuzzy brain, or even labor itself anymore, which I couldn’t say for the longest time (the “twilight sleep” and c-sections of yesteryear seemed preferable to feeling every pain and dealing with the potential damage “down there”).

And really – we’re ready to meet this little guy. We talk to him every day. He dances when daddy plays the piano and practices his ninja moves while mommy reads in bed. We’re beyond ready to see him.

However.

I feel woefully under-prepared when it comes to the practicalities of the fact that I’ll be GIVING BIRTH TO ANOTHER PERSON IN BARELY MORE THAN A MONTH. Sure, we’ve made progress. Our stroller has now been joined by a crib and play yard. I’ve bought tons of clothes – the cool stuff too, not the overly cute “I don’t know if you heard but we’re having a MANLY boy who loves SPORTS and CARS and DOGS BUT NOT CATS” stuff that seem to fill many stores. We scored some amazing gifts from our wonderful friends at Baby Fiesta ’11 a couple weeks ago (Kevin and Shelby, we tested out the Puj Tub in our sink and it fits perfectly!) and are filling in the gaps slowly but surely.

But I need to wash all the clothes – and we don’t have a dresser or storage space for me to put them away in yet. The massive task of ordering our cloth diapers has yet to happen – and they’ll need several cycles in the wash too before they’re usable. Our second bedroom? Still a disaster area. We’re plowing through piles of junk mail and years of accumulated receipts and folders and papers, filling our recycling bin to the brim mere moments after it’s emptied (and it’s a big ‘un, too), and there seems to be no end in sight. If the trash man came every day, we’d keep him employed.

Also troublesome is the fact that with every passing week I’m getting larger and less mobile. The good scrubbing that our bathrooms need isn’t going to get done by me, I’m afraid. Nor is the furniture rearranging that will happen once my office is emptied of its detritus. All the boxes that need to go from upstairs into our garage won’t be moved by me. Floors need to be mopped, carpets need to be cleaned, shelves need to be dusted… There’s a cleaning service in our future – I don’t see any way around it. Especially with houseguests coming at the end of the month.

And there’s all the other little details – preparing to put Baby J on his own health insurance, lining up contractors to attend to my clients while I’m on leave, training my boss and co-workers to handle my duties, preparing freezer meals so we have something to eat after the baby arrives that doesn’t come from a drive-through lane, figuring out when and how to get my mom and Jason’s family out here after the baby shows up, changing our life insurance and writing a will, and so on, and so on, ad infinitum. Every day someone reminds me that Baby J is pretty much done cooking and is just hanging out and gaining weight, so he could pop out at any time – and we have yet to buy, let alone install, our car seat.

I know, somehow, everything will get done. But.

35 days seems so far away. And it’s not nearly long enough.