You're not formally due until Thursday, so you're biologically entitled to spend a little while more inside, but we're ready to meet you, so, you know, don't feel obliged to stick it out just to make the number.  

Meanwhile, people keep giving us "helpful" advice on how to lure you into the world. "Chinese food", they say. You're probably not old enough to understand why that's funny, given that you're not old in a technical sense. And yet, almost old enough to suspect that a billion Chinese people probably aren't all giving birth at 32 weeks.  

Presumably they don't all methodically eat fortune cookies after each routine meal, either, although I admit that I haven't personally verified this. (Nor that they do not, in fact, eat fortune donuts after hamburgers.) (As you'll find out, people have ways of small-mindedly oversimplifying culture, and then of expansively and imaginatively recomplicating it.) (We'll go investigate once you're, you know, eating food without using your navel.)  

Anyway, we got three fortune cookes with our last order. Mine said something about happiness. And fish, I think, or maybe the moon. B's dealt, somewhat evasively, with the subject of change. But yours I quote here verbatim: "If you wish good advice, consult your mother."