Due date like Christmas

'Twas the weeks before Zomacs, and all through the evening
loitered Mike and I, practicing our breathing.
The go-bags were set by the doorway with care
in hopes that stage 1 contractions soon would be there.

The carseat was nestled all snug in the car,
with visions of babyhood travelling far.
And Mike in his T-shirt, and I in my yoga pants,
Doing the when-will-the-baby-come dance...