"Things" are definitely starting to happen, but whether or not the baby will come before Thursday remains to be seen.
The greater question is whether or not the baby will arrive before or after my family commits me to an asylum.
I had an ultrasound and non-stress test this morning. The baby looks great, my fluid levels are fantastic and I'm contracting like a mad woman.
Which is only appropriate, because every one thinks I'm going mad.
Like the guy at the grocery store who cut me off in line. Even though I was walking extremely slow and 25 feet away - it should have been blatantly obvious that I was aiming toward the checkout line. I loudly exclaimed "What kind of yoo-hoo cuts off a 9-month pregnant woman?!!" Unfortunately, he didn't hear me and was already checked through when I waddled up with my cart five minutes later.
Or the guy at the post office, who I criticized when I watched him hastily walk 20 paces in front of his young daughter and not once turn around to make sure she was still there - or hold the door open for her. My comment to that chump was "People these days are like a school in the summer. No class!!"
Or the people at Kitchen Aid who I blasted on the phone this afternoon, when the service representative, who was suppose to be here "first thing in the morning" to repair our dishwasher, had not shown up by 2 PM. I'm not even going to tell you what I told them. But it wasn't nice. And from my last calculation, I owe the curse cup my next two paychecks.
Last night, my mother prepared a wonderful turkey dinner.
I took one look at the 11 pound bird and had a panick attack.
It then dawned on me that in the event I am successful with a VBAC, we haven't had any birth training.
We haven't taken a single lamaze class and I have absolutely no idea where any of my books on pregnancy and child birth are located.
After ripping apart our library yesterday ... I fear I gave them all away.
Which is a problem considering I don't think you can actually give birth if you don't know what to expect.
I don't know how to breathe.
I certainly don't know how to relax.
And one look at that turkey makes me wobble.
If only this baby could apparate out of me, life would be swell.
When Charlie tried to reassure me by saying that I could opt for a c-section at any point, I told him "I'm fairly certain that the term 'caesarean' comes from Julius Caesar. And although there is no concrete evidence that Caesar was born by a c-section, I think they have dubbed it that because Caesar was cut up. I don't want to be cut up. I don't want to have this baby cut out of me!!"
Charlie rolled his eyes and told me that I was over reacting. To which I responded, "I am not over reacting. Et tu Charlie. ET TU!!"
I think I need an epidural.
Right about now.