I promised myself I would make sure I was really in labor before I ran off to the hospital.
Lesson learned: Don't make stupid promises to yourself. Sheesh.
On Thursday night I ran off to the hospital with contractions ten minutes apart. I got there and of course the contractions decided to stop being regular. (The nurse on duty said they put special oxygen in the air at the hospital to make that happen.)
From 12:30 (yes, A.M.) until 5:30 I was hooked up to machines, listening to my baby's heartbeat (fun!), my Dashingly Handsome Sidekick snoring on the couch close by, and the lady across the hall panting and screaming as she went through at least an hour of pushing her baby into this world. (I prayed for her a lot.)
I think it was the sound of the woman in labor that made my contractions stop. Seriously. My tired body said, "Oh, did I say we were having a baby today? Ha ha, just kidding!"
Anyway, back home I am.
Yesterday was the much-anticipated due date.
Due dates should be banned. I am a strong believer in due periods instead of due dates. I should have said, "Oh, my baby will be here at least by February...."
Then maybe people would stop seeing me and saying, "You're still pregnant?! And you're walking around?! And you're just going about your normal life?!"
Come on, I have four children. I don't have the luxury of holing up in bed until this baby is born. And even if I did, wouldn't that be boring? (Well, it depends if I could take my laptop with me, I guess.)
So, I'm eating a lot of brownies (thanks Dawn Shultz for that idea!) and just ... cleaning, enjoying life, blogging, maybe writing if I can focus enough, watching football playoffs (the Seahawks play today!), looking forward to Downton Abbey tonight (Baby is not allowed to be born during Downton Abbey, you hear that, Baby?), and excited that tomorrow is a holiday for my kids and the DHS (thank you, Dr. Martin Luther King!).
What's up with you? Or not up with you that maybe should be up with you? What are you waiting for?
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