Still no baby. Much like her brother, who was nine days late, she's taking her own sweet time getting here. Six days late and no sign of arrival.

I'm getting desperate. So desperate, in fact, that I took the advice of a friend and went out for eggplant parmesan at a restaurant on the outskirts of town. Apparently, this dish has a history of helping women go into labor in 24 hours. Old wives' tale? We shall see, but they have a wall of over 300 photographs of babies born 24 hours after eggplant parm was eaten by mama. Sign me up.

Kevin's response to my request for this dinner adventure was, "So let me get this straight: you want to drive 25 miles in rush hour traffic, outside the Perimeter, to eat Italian, which you don't really like, specifically eggplant, your least favorite food, because it MIGHT send you into labor?"

"Um, yeah," I replied.

The eggplant parm was actually quite good, even though I hate eggplant and don't really like Italian.

AND, if I go into labor, we get $25 off our next meal and a free baby t-shirt.

Come on Baby Sister!!