There are about six weeks left until our child's birth day and I'm starting to put together The Hospital Bag. Our Hospital Bag is actually just the corporate-looking suitcase that is used in this household for all travel, and for which I will surely lose points with the La Leche League mother set.

 In childbirth class and in all the books they list what you should bring to the hospital with you in your "Hospital Bag". They never say "suitcase", which leads me to believe that once again I am missing the mark on something innate to all real mothers -- that a Hospital Bag is yet another pastel-colored, hundred-dollar baby thing  to be purchased from BabiesRUs.  My "Hospital Bag" does not have Winnie-the-Pooh stickers on it, it has airport sticker tags on it. Will the hospital staff peg me as a bad mother? Will they whisper about how I am surely going back to work to let my child be raised by wolves at a daycare center? Probably.  Do I care?  Perhaps if I had more energy, I might.

But that's the thing, see. I'm tired, so I care just a little less about things like this. I'm good for about 3 hours of productive energy in a day, but after that my feet start to ache, then I have to replace my contacts with my glasses, and then I really need to be put down for a nap or else everyone around me will suffer my cranky wrath.

Why does this surprise me? It certainly makes sense as to why I might be tired. I think I'm just surprised when it interferes with my standard way of life. For example, last week I went to the mall to buy pajamas (matching pajamas) for The Hospital Bag. I had the entire glorious evening to shop. I left the first department store empty-handed and with every intention of cruising around the rest of the mall in search of pajamas that were not either a) floral or b) wedding-night silky/lacy or c) festooned with Garfield or Tweetie Bird.   (Why are there no solid color pajamas for women?  Some of us are actually serious people. ) I made it about 15 steps past the department store entrance and into the main mall before spotting the Man/Waiting Chair area.

Those chairslook comfy, I thought. So I sat down. Just for a minute. 

Since I was so comfortable I decided to call Sandie. Just for a minute.  I sat there for about an hour, having a lovely chat with Sandie for much of that time. Next, I called Fabulous Husband to tell him that I've lost my shopping chops (he found it difficult to hide the relief in his voice).  Then I did some people watching before getting up and going home.

I had the entire evening, yet I made it to one department store and ultimately could not fulfill my shopping mission. Do you think the hospital staff will judge me if I wear non-matching pajamas? Probably. Do I care?

If I had more energy, I might.