buns in the oven

And then comes the day that the expectant mother turns to her loving and supportive other half and says, "Honey, it's time!!" and then there's a wacky montage of frantic packing and getting everything in the car and almost driving off without the wife and general chaos until all are safe and sound in a delivery room. At that moment, all the waiting comes to a quiet halt, in those final minutes, or hours, before everything changes forever and it's sweet. You know that it's started, the final stretch, so you can start the phone tree and charge the camera and watch Hair and do practice Bar essays, and all those other things that people do in labor and delivery rooms.

You don't really get that magical moment with birds. Not so much.

The eggs haven't hatched, yet, I guess. This morning's report had poppa bird, all puffed up, covering the brood. Now momma bird is sitting there. It's pretty quiet. Except that momma bird, who, as you'll recall is a bit on the skittish side - I'm not judging, I'm just reporting the facts - and usually gets up and flies off when too many nosey neighbors come to visit, won't budge. In fact, every time I open the slip (which, I realized at some point early this morning, is surprisingly similar to an oven door, for those of you who enjoy a good metaphor) she puffs up and hunkers down. She's up to something.

I figure I'll know when the tinies have arrived because they will make some sort of baby bird sound. I am hoping it is a sweet melodic sound that lulls my own children into taking long naps and sleeping until 7AM.