Today, on New Year's eve, a colleague said: "Countdown? I'd rather be counting sheep!"
When you find yourself agreeing heartily with this statement, and even laughing out loud, you know you have officially crossed over to becoming a crusty old fart. And I agreed heartily with this statement, and I laughed out loud, so it kind of gives away my age (hint: not 20).
Which is why I'm now sitting at home blogging instead of being out there engaging in hedonistic activities (drinking, dancing, smoking, drinking, puking, then passing out. Fun!). And then I'm going to get ready to turn in soon because I'm already nodding off at the laptop.
In other news, only 1 1/2 hours to midnight and no sign of labour*, which means January Baby, not December Baby. On the other hand, this also means the baby won't be getting his free supply of milk powder, and I won't be getting a $2,010 cheque from the milk powder company. Oh well, you win some, you lose some.
*Unless I have a super quick labour like what I once saw in a Hong Kong drama. In a scene in that show, a pregnant woman who was sitting in the office cafeteria happily drinking a cup of coffee suddenly developed contractions so severe, she couldn't be rushed to the hospital in time and had to give birth on the spot. It must have taken half an hour from start to finish. Fastest birth ever. If only.