You know you’ve reached a no-turning-back point of commitment and familiarity in your relationship when you can identify your partner not only by sight and sound, but also smell. Dave and I were leaving the hospital after my pre-op testing when I caught a whiff of what was unmistakably my husband, particularly after he’s had a little too much dairy. I call it “the sweat sox stinker.” But I didn’t even have to label it as such in his presence. I simply turned and said, “When did you have a milkshake?”

This is how well I know my husband.

I know, for some, this kind of intimacy is the stuff of nightmares, but for me, right now, it’s a comfort. Because the fact that he can endure my “forgiveness bombs” (those are the stinkers that are so unexpectedly bad, you immediately apologize for them), assures me he’ll make it through all the discomfort and grossness that comes along with childbirth. And yeah, we’ve been there before. Twice. But the need to feel not only loved, but desired, never goes away. And it’s good to know it takes more than a fart or a peek at my internal organs to turn him off.

Phoebe will be here in less than 24 hours. I’m excited, but also scared. I don’t want to die or anything. It’d be really lame for the last post on my blog to be about farts.