One time I was chatting with a woman whose baby was late. Lateness being a construct we apply to a portion of humankind that is unimpressed by calendars or clocks. Still, she had an expectation that her relationship with said child would blossom from "behind the skin and silent" to "open air and noisy". 

I am not sure of the statistics around due dates. How many babies are considered to be on time? Surely our society is notorious for its unwillingness to be patient, and has concocted the means to hurry things along. Perhaps of more consequence is the question of whether it matters. In a group of a dozen mothers, how many would list their baby's birth date as being a problem of any significance ten years later? Twenty? Yet to a rotund woman who can no longer put on her shoes, impatience bubbles up. 

Sometimes people share videos with me, eager to have me enjoy the surprise, or humor or awwww factor. Which is generous of them. If the video is over a few minutes in duration, they may try to offer reassurance that it is worth the suspense. 

"Wait for it." 

Which makes me more likely to do so. 

There were instances when my attention span began to wane. When a child was sick. Mid February when another snowfall dumped from the sky. The last month of potty training. Yet if I look back at the postponement of my wishes for health, flowers, or dry undies, it's difficult to remember how long it actually took. 

The truly embarrassing feature is that even when something I longed for arrives, my mind is restless for the next target.