Four Days Old:

Every time I try to think of what to say in this very small space, I become too overwhelmed to even begin to explain what is going on here. The fact that I have five minutes to use both hands says that things here are already improving. For the first few days, I don't think I set Ms. Olivia down for more than five minutes- all she wanted was to eat and eat and eat and eat. Now dad is holding her for sometimes even an hour at a time, which is like a slice of heaven for a mom's tired arms.
She is a very nocturnal creature, which means that we are literally up all night long. ALL. NIGHT. I'm sure if you have a baby you understand. And then, when she does finally sleep, I just want to gaze at her because omigod, how did we make something so perfect? I just cannot believe it.

The thing is- THE thing is- I really did think she was a boy. I mean, REALLY, 100% sure. I thought so from the moment I found out I was pregnant. So when she came out and they said "You have a daughter", I just freaked out. Because how could she be a GIRL? It was amazing, and also totally overwhelming. As I lay there holding her as the doctor was still working on me, I was just staring at her and telling her how beautiful she was. And then I realized I didn't want to just tell her she was beautiful because she was a girl, so I also told her how smart and strong she was. The doctor was, I swear, laughing at me.

I always thought that if I had a daughter, I would think of her as such an extension of me. But when I look at Olivia, I see someone totally different. She has such a big life ahead of her, and it is going to be so full and happy and fun. She is exactly who we wanted.

The Lovely Beausband subbing in:

Allow me to present for your delight Olivia Phoenix.



She was born on Wednesday, April 26 at 7:25pm, weighing 7 pounds, 8 ounces and measuring 21 inches long. Initial observations suggest she looks pretty equally like both parents, with her mother's beautiful eyes and dark hair and a face shaped like her father's, including the chubby cheeks and dimples. She is in wonderful health and is already nursing well. She is, in a word, perfect.

Her mama is recovering very well and in bringing her into the world was nothing short of heroic. Her papa could not possibly be more proud of both of them and is brimming with joy. Brimming!

Olivia was greeted by a paparazi composed of two grandmothers, a grandfather and an uncle, so there will be many more pictures to come. Papa's headed back to the hospital and will stay the night, then he and the mama will bring her home tomorrow.

Here's a couple more pics of the parents and baby. Both were taken about 30 minutes after delivery.

Today Is One Of Those Days You Realize Why Guns Should Be Illegal:

4 a.m.: Wake up, wide awake, even though sleep didn't come until almost 1:00. But it's baby day! We're gonna have a baby! How can one SLEEP at a time like this?

4:30 a.m.: Try to fall back to sleep, knowing it's going to be a long, painful, exhausting day. To no avail. Finally just get up at 5 and start eating.

6:50 a.m.: Call hospital, as instructed, to get induction time. Have already showered/ packed bag/ eaten. Giddy!
Get told that they are switching shifts and will call back between 7 a.m.- 8 a.m. with a time.

7 a.m.: Crawl into bed, with phone, already tired, to see if sleep will come.

7:30 a.m.: Sleep comes.

8 a.m.: MIL calls to see if I am "excited". Mumble into phone about exhaustion and hang up.

9:30 a.m.: Wake up. Kaiser has still not called? Call them. They have not received any message that we called at 7 a.m. All beds are full. They tell us to rest and call back at 3 p.m. SERIOUSLY? WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO UNTIL 3 P.M.?

1:30 p.m.: Kaiser calls and tells us it looks like space is opening and to call them back at 2:30 to confirm, but expect to come in at 3. Become giddy again. Shower again, get every last thing ready.

2:30 p.m.: Call Kaiser, ready to go! Nope, beds are full again. They tell us to call back at 5 p.m. to see if anything is open.

2:35 p.m.: Call regular doctor, in tears. Send message to her- I cannot do this anymore, I am exhausted, I cannot deal. Please help (as of 6:23 p.m., have heard nothing back)!

3:00 p.m.: Lie down with lovely beausband, feeling more emotionally crushed by the minute. Can not believe this.

3:30 p.m.: Fall asleep.

5:00 p.m.: Wake up to lovely beausband on the phone with Kaiser, who is going through yet another shift change. They tell him they will call him back at 5:30.

5:45 p.m.: Kaiser calls and tells us to come in for another non-stress test at 7 p.m. Meaning that if everything is fine, chances are they will just send us home. They ask if that is ok. OK? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? I AM 12 DAYS LATE, YOU HAVE BEEN JERKING US AROUND FOR 11 HOURS, WE ARE TOTALLY FUCKING EXHAUSTED AND STRESSED AND SICK OF CALLING OUR MOTHERS EVERY 2 HOURS WITH UPDATES, YOU FUCKERS!

6:30 p.m.: We are leaving for stress test. I'm sure we'll be home soon.

I am never going to have this baby.

One For The Road, Because I Am Too Deformed Not To Laugh At Myself, or
Seeing The Light At The End Of The Tunnel:

Posthip: The Unplugged Version

I'm not going to post anymore because I've simply become too bitter and disappointed to be witty or amusing (also, boring and redundant). I think we should all just assume the Tuesday induction and assume I will be doing the following things until then: walking, eating, resting, checking your blog. So go update, PLEASE, and give me something to do.

For those of you following along at home:

I am having contractions. Which means... ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!

Contrary to what one (me) might think before going through pregnancy and birthing classes and the whole long 9+ months, contractions don't actually equal labor. Really.

I was up until 3:30 last night, timing the vague pains. They come every 5-10 minutes. Then I fell asleep, so that should indicate exactly how (un)severe the pain is. I only slept until 9, so I'm pretty tuckered today. That is my biggest current issue, to further indicate the (lack of) severity.

We had another stress test, in which all is still well. Part of the test hooks you up to a fetal monitor, in which I could watch the contractions happening as I felt them. Yup, they're happening. Nope, means nothing. This could go on for weeks, in fact (of course, it won't, because we have the induction scheduled for Tuesday). It could also mean that labor is starting. There is just no way to know. As they told me today, when the pain gets so bad you can't talk through it, come to the hospital. Until then, it's just a guessing game.

41 long weeks of neurosis:

I'm totally posting this for the ladies who google '41 weeks pregnant' and are feeling bitter and upset, and don't want to go to that stupid babycenter website and hear NON-OVERDUE women talk about how done they are. You want done? I'll show you done.

So deep down in my psyche, I actually believe that this baby is not born because I am a failure. I mean, clearly other people have had their babies. Even people we know personally- one who was due the same day as us- had their babies. It is obviously my fault and I am either a failure or I am being punished for some terrible thing I did at some point and that is why the baby is not coming out. Or (neurosis continues), we have a "slow baby". Like having a "slow reader". I have clearly done something wrong- if I had only played Mozart more (or ever), or taken my pre-natal vitamins during my first trimester, even though I would just puke them up, or if I had done more yoga- this baby would be here by now. I am already failing as a mother, and the world is letting me know it. A better mother would at least have had her baby by now (a better mother would probably also have remembered you're supposed to have a baby book sometime before being 40 weeks pregnant, but I've got enough to beat myself up over), I can hear people thinking. Don't even get me started on the reasons why I would be punished- unfinished thank-you notes, unreturned phone calls, not giving wedding gifts within a year- the list is endless. I cannot help but think, "If I had just done a better job on that paper, my karma would be better and I'd have had the baby by now."

Also, the rampant guilt. I mean, if I'm not having a baby, I should obviously be working. Then we won't be so financially strapped and, twists of all twists- I am convinced if I had planned to keep working, I would have actually had the baby by now. It's my own fault for planning incorrectly, you see? I jinxed it!

I'm fun off the meds, no?

Things that piss me off today:

The chatroom at babycenter, where all of the April due dates can get together and "chat" about their baby issues.
So last night I went on to a thread about being overdue- seems innocuous enough, and certainly where I am.

BITCHES on there are talking about how they are just going crazy being overdue, and their due dates are not even here yet. Do NOT complain to me about being overdue when your due date is 4/23. There are REAL overdue people here, ladies. Step back.

Other people's birth stories:

So first off, I am really bitter about both KatiefreakyHolmes and Brooke Shields giving birth before me. I just want to get that out there. Bitter, bitter, bitter.

But, let's talk about my friend D. for a moment, since I am not at all bitter about her. D was due on April 9th, and they began induction for her on the 16th because her baby was already looking to be very big. So she went into the hospital on the 16th, got the cervical softening agent, and much pitocen. I wanted to give her space to have the baby and adjust before harassing her with calls, so I waited until last night to call. Two full days after she'd gone into the hospital. And guess what? PITOCEN DOESN'T WORK FOR HER. The poor thing had been hooked up for 48 hours to the drugs, unable to eat or walk around, and she had dilated to 1 stupid ass cm. She was uncomfortable, but only enough to make her feel annoyed, and it definitely wasn't labor. Apparently this happens to a very few rare and special women. Can you even imagine? How horrible? They were taking her off the pitocen last night so she could (finally) eat, and trying again this morning, and if things didn't progress quickly, just going in for a c-section. The thing that I imagine sucking the most about the c-section (contrary to the fact that my stupid eyebrow waxer told me today that I should get one because otherwise I could lose my husband- bitch, I'm never going back, plus my eyebrows look like shit, which almost made me cry today, but I'm trying to move on, yes I'm still hormonal) is that you do ALL THIS WORK and then have to have the c-section. Like, why bother? If you were going to have to have a c-section, might as well do it in the beginning and not have the work. BUT, that is not the way it works.

I'm holding off on calling the poor dear until later or maybe tomorrow, so she can have some time to adjust and recover.

I hope this birth story, although not mine, satiates you for a week or so.

Postscript: Just got word from said friend, who had her c-section today, only to discover an 11 lb., 8 oz. baby hiding in her 5'2" frame. NO WONDER THAT PITOCEN DIDN'T WORK! GAH!

This is getting redundant:

So, we have just come from another doctor's appointment, this one with a special treat: a stress test for the baby. For those not in the know, this includes an ultrasound (hi to little Q, who is just thriving away in there!), a testing of the amniotic fluids, a heartrate test, and a contraction monitoring. And, to nobody's surprise, everything is fine. I am apparently a very good host. We will return on Friday for yet another round of this, and then still keep Tuesday as our induction date.

The super fun part of today's appointment was when they stripped my membranes. Youch! It made Q using my cervix as a squeeze toy look like a walk in the park.
I'm apparently about 1 cm. dilated, and the doctor was able to reach in and feel the baby's head, so it seems all is well. You know, except that I'm never going to actually give birth to this child.

Baby? What Baby?

Just to let you know, I have given up all hope of ever having this baby. Really! My mood has lifted and I am busy getting on with life. Before the due date, I thought every day would be the day. Now I'm pretty sure I'm just going to have to wait until the 25th, when they induce me. And I don't even care anymore. Induction- meh. Twelve days late- meh. I just don't think it's going to happen naturally for some reason.

Plus! We are busy here! With the car being fixed and everything! Also, time for another pedicure! And now it's finally not raining! So there are walks! So, WHATEVER TO YOU BABY, we are totally FINE to wait. HA on you!

(P.S. We will see you tomorrow at the ultrasound; we can't wait!)

Awesome, with a capital A:

Sure, go ahead and be overdue with your baby. Then go out to your car and find the glass shattered and not just your stereo taken, but the entire console gone. All of the vents and heating systems and cooling systems and connections to the turn signals- gone.

Because it's not enough f-u-n to deal with these sorts of situations when you're in the best of moods, but add 35 lbs. and a few hormones, and it is a PARTY.

Life is Awesome.

This is the look I'm going for:

No, seriously. Those sweatpants with clogs? TOTALLY what I want to be wearing. It's not because my sneakers don't fit anymore or anything; I'm just showing you the latest trend. Also? The pants that don't stay up anymore and show my underwear? What, you do not want to see a nine-plus months pregnant woman's underwear? It's not sexy? Dude, YOUR problem. I thought it was cute.

Also? You know you like it that every time I smile, my gums bleed. Nothing says happy like a bleeding mouth, you know!

Sorry about all those crumbs on your floor; I would pick them up but I figured you wanted them there. They go so well with the ones on my shirt...

A day in which nothing progresses:

Two nights ago, the lovely beausband and I went for a long walk, with spicy food.

Yesterday, Wood took my pregnant ass out for another good, long walk.

I bought a yoga ball that I bounce on endlessly, because it feels good and also because I heard it moves the baby down.

I am an emotional wreck.

I cannot get comfortable, no matter what I do.

Last night was a full moon, which everyone (well, all the Internet hippies) said meant the baby would come.

I woke up in the middle of the night, wide awake, sure this was a sign that labor was starting.

I had a doctor's appointment today, in which I discovered nothing had progressed much, and scheduled a non-stress test for next Tuesday, and an induction for the 25th (Which you might want to note is two days before the full 42 weeks. I wanted earlier but they are already booked. Um, 11 more days of this is going to be fully unacceptable).

What is really troublesome is my mood, which has plummeted. I cannot shake these blues; I can't even really say they are connected to the baby not coming on the due date. It's that feeling behind your eyes when you think you are just going to sob at any moment. When my mom walked me around today and a salesperson asked when I was due and I replied, a little chocked up, "Yesterday", she said "Yeah, I was afraid to ask. You sort of look like that." It's this look of depression and disgust that I don't think leaves my face for even a minute.

Please, at this point, send whatever preachy prayers or hippie good vibes or whatever it is you believe in my way to GET THIS CHILD OUT.

Really bitter:

That babycenter's weekly pregnancy update email came today, entitled "40 weeks: Life with your Newborn". Fuck you. What newborn? STILL PREGNANT HERE.

Due Date:

So, today is my due date, but do I have a baby? Noooooo....
SOME PEOPLE (I won't name names) are starting things off on the wrong foot with their Mamas, if you know what I mean. Promptness is important in this house, Q. You have about 12 hours left to fulfill our agreement.

I made the lovely beausband take me out walking last night, since we had a brief break in the endless fucking rain, in an effort to bring on some labor. There was certainly a bit of pain with all the walking, and then a delicious Mexican food meal in the middle before the walk home. Then there was about two hours of the always pressing question "Is it gas or is it labor?", and Internet, let me tell you, it was gas. There was also the hour or so of the inability to get comfortable, no matter where I sat, lied, stood, or moved to. That was F-U-N! Then there was the eleven hours of sleep.

I am actually starting to get a bit grumpy now. I know that babies are often late, especially first babies, blah, blah fucking blah. I don't really want to hear it. I am getting more and more uncomfortable and irritable as the days go by. I just want this over; it's been a long nine months. I want to be able to bend over to pick something up, or lie on my back, or walk without panting, or not swell like a fucking balloon every day. I also want to meet my baby and see who he or she is and who he or she looks like and put this anxiety of labor behind me. I know I'll be wishing for these days back very, very soon, but now? I just want this baby out.

39 Weeks, 6 Days:



Means that every time you take a shower, blood pools in your feet and ankles, turning them a lovely black-like color, and so immediately following said shower, you must lie on a flat surface with your feet in the air above you to drain the blood out.

A goddamn party, I tell you.

Ladies who Lunch:

I had lunch today with my friend D., who was due with her baby boy LAST SATURDAY. As in three days ago Saturday. Kind of kicks the shit out of me feeling bad for myself.

Want to get stared at and talked to a lot? Be two 9-month pregnant girls out for lunch. EVERYONE looks at you, as you waddle along and breathe heavily. And they all want to talk to you about it. Usually, when I'm alone, I get looks and sometimes people will make comments or ask questions but when there's two of you? Forget about it.

I keep thinking that I'm having labor pains, but they are not regular and usually end with a little gas, so I'm pretty sure that's what they are. I figure when they come, I will KNOW. Last night the baby seemed to think my cervix was a squeeze toy, which was the most unbelievable pain I can recall having in some time, but even while it was happening, I was sure it wasn't labor. I was, however, sure that the baby was already in big trouble with me for this sort of behavior. Cervix, dude. Not to be played with.

Dear Q,

We hope you are still enjoying your stay at Chez Mama. Thursday you will have been here for the full nine months we agreed upon in our contract, and we at Chez Mama would like to check in with you about your future plans.

While we have thoroughly enjoyed having you with us at Chez Mama, we do hope you are still planning on checking out on or before Thursday, April 13th, as previously arranged. We do not have another incoming guest for quite some time, but after your stay, we would like to do some construction work around your room, which needs to be vacant for a time.

We would also like to add a note that while your incessant pounding on the walls seems to have improved in recent months, each time you roll over in bed, the entire hotel shakes something violent. Perhaps you notice this when your host yells out "Ooooooohhhhh" or "Ohhhhhmyyyyygoooodddd" after the roll? It seems space is getting a little tight.

We happen to know the next place you are going, they allow rolling of all kinds, as well as a lifetime guarantee of love and fun. They have called to inform us they are waiting excitedly for you, and have prepared a room for your arrival. Everything is ready whenever you are!

Again, we would like to thank you for your stay at Chez Mama. We know you have many choices about where to stay, and we have enjoyed having you with us. To reiterate, however, we do expect you to vacate on or before Thursday, April 13th.

Sincerely,
The Management

Winging It:

Did you watch tonight's episode of West Wing? Did you bawl your eyes out like I did? Did you think about the fact that people didn't really have to act when they cried over Leo's death because he really is dead? Did that touch you or are you dead inside?

And did you see next week's preview? We are seriously going to have to Tivo that shit, because these pregnancy hormones cannot deal with that episode (that is, if we ever figure out how to WORK this goddamn Tivo situation). Or I will keep a bucket beside me to cry into, like when your roof leaks.

All of this is to say that a lot of fluid has left my body, but none of it from the right orifices to indicate a baby is on the way.

Also, did you notice The Lovely Beausband has been posting of late? With pics, even.

Another Saturday Night And I Ain't Got No Baby:

Yesterday, Miriam & I spent the day making cupcakes.
What would seem a basic task to many, especially for two people who are pretty good in kitchens, turned into a messy disaster... but with delicious results.

I wanted to try my hand at stuffing some cupcakes- something I felt I wasn't ready to do without moral support. When you 'stuff' cupcakes, you bake them and then make a small insertion on the top with your pastry tip and get the stuffing in. Because our stuffing was chocolate ganache, it was messier than you might imagine. Also, because I am a klutz, chocolate came oozing out the OTHER end of the pastry bag... oops. In the process of the day, I also managed to pull my (cheap) toilet paper holder off the wall, as well as rip the doorbell off the wall, which is fun for the whole family (or at least one person in the family- guess who?), because you can walk around with the doorbell in your hand, ringing it. Turns out they don't have to be attached to the wall- who knew? Also, why?

Just when things were really going with the cupcakes, of course the fire alarm started going off and the cell phones started ringing and... you can see why the chocolate got everywhere, right?

Well, all of this cupcake insanity was in preparation for the entire sweetjuniper family to come over for dinner tonight. I do believe those banana cupcakes won Sweet Juniper over, too, so they were not for not.

All of this is to say that, no, I have not had a baby. Should I update daily with a simple "No", so people don't get the wrong idea? We are doing everything we can to get this baby out, but nothing yet. I think tomorrow. Do you think tomorrow? Please, think tomorrow.

Nine Months Pregnant Dream:

I woke up from my nap today (ah, glorious nap!), dreaming about being in a bakery where they were serving me cookies, filled with cream, and topped with melted butter.

Of course, I then simply had to out and buy some cookies. Yum.

Support Hose, or Hoes, however you want to view it:

Last night, at my SJSU teaching seminar class, we had guest speakers come in to talk to us about the program we will be forced into next year, called Induction. It used to be called BITSA, but because of its' expanding nature, they have changed the name. This will be the second 'Induction' I have had to participate in since becoming a teacher, and I can't say either of them are high on my list of things to do.

So, here I am. I have been teaching for three years now- one as a "supported" Pre-Intern, two as a "supported" Intern, and overlap two of those years as being "supported" by Teach For America, and another two as "supported" by my credentialing program. I cannot even begin to add up the countless hours of the last three years I have spent in conferences, meetings, classes, observations, etc., about my teaching. Perhaps the first 50 of those hours was helpful, but now? Not. Helpful. Anymore.

BUT! Now with the new "Induction", I will have another two years of constant support- observations, courses, meetings, etc. This alone makes me want to throw in the towel on teaching. How many more classes can I go to where we fucking 'Think, Pair, Share' or 'Carousel Walk'? HOW MANY? Because I really feel I hit my limit about a year ago. They make me want to poke my own eyes out with a stick. I am not kidding; my blood pressure goes up when I even have to THINK about them. Five years of constant support? When will it end?

I am not saying that support is not helpful in any way, but I am not a stupid person. I know what I should be doing in the classroom, and when I am not performing optimally it is not because I don't know how. It is because I couldn't get my shit together that day, or I'm not feeling well, or I think that (gasp!) sometimes direct instruction works best. I know, it's insane, isn't it? The CONSTANT criticism and/ or CONSTANT praise just annoys me. I am not a group worker- I like to do things on my own. It seems that the teaching profession, or at least the granting of this fucking clear California credential, is set up to serve the lowest common denominator. Five years of support? To do the same job? What other profession has this sort of oversight? Doctors are the only ones I could think of, and I'm happy to go through five years of being constantly reviewed if I'm going to make $100k. But $40k? Not worth it.

Perhaps I am alone in this- maybe other teachers out there love the feedback and support. Maybe they even need it. It's entirely possible that I am just bitch pregnant hormone lady right now (although I seriously doubt it, since this has been under my skin for three years already). But five years? FIVE? Let's think about what's really necessary here.

More Deep Thoughts:

Is it labor or is it gas?

Let's talk about something else for a change:

Yesterday, Dutch posted a hysterical entry about his family's collection of stuff, which heralded me back to an article Mark Morford wrote awhile ago about Americans and their junk.

Perhaps I am the only one interested in this topic, due to my marriage to a "collector", but I doubt it. We've all got the crap. And while we here at the posthipchick household are in the throes of unpacking and trying to place all of our treasures, I am once again reminded of exactly how much stuff we actually have that we simply cannot get rid of.

For instance, an entire box of my birth announcements, along with every card every person sent when I, and other members of my family, were born. I don't recognize a single name on the cards, but could you throw that away? Your birth memorabilia, for the love of God? I thought not.

How about that dry, brown wedding bouquet? Whatcha gonna do with that? I certainly won't be using it again, it's not like I look at it and am flooded with wonderful memories of my "special day". And yet. Can you throw away your wedding bouquet? Or should you just continue to find places to hide it around the house for the next 50 years? I don't know.

Truly, though, the posthipchick household has its' own cross to bear, and that cross is books. I mean BOOKS. I mean two English majors and a PhD in English and book lovers books. The lovely beausband estimates our current collection at about 1,000 lbs. of books, but I would say it's more (although he is certainly the one to have carried them all, so what do I know?). It's not just novels, either, oh no. It's anthologies like nobody's business, it's art books, it's poetry, it's instructions. It's a little much. Remember, of course, that not only do we have all of these books here at home, I also have a classroom full of books (not thinking about it), and the lovely beausband has an office full of books. The two combined are probably another 1,000 lbs. Oh, and I loan books out all the time, and often don't get them back. I'm ok with that. This is our "Permanent Collection" I'm speaking of.

Sometimes I go to people's homes- nice, intelligent people, maybe people who have done cross-country moves- and stare at their wall space. They do not have floor-to-ceiling bookcases in every room of their house. They do not stick small bookcases into the kitchen nooks because they are out of room. And they seem to get on just fine in life.

When we were about six months pregnant, it suddenly occurred to us that Q would be needing bookshelf space. We considered giving him/ her one shelf on one of our bookcases, but have ended up- generous parents that we are- giving up our smallest bookcase for his/ her room. It meant that all the cookbooks had to find another home, but we are flexible like that. I cannot- CANNOT- imagine what this poor child is going to think of all these books. Maybe, like Bella, it will eat them.

Timely McTimester:

Friends like to joke that I get to their house early and stand outside, looking at my watch, waiting for the second hand of my watch to go exactly to the time decided upon which to meet, and THEN ring their doorbell.

If a concert says "Doors open at 8, show begins at 9", at 9:00 on the dot, I am left wondering WHY the show hasn't started yet. Didn't they say 9? Is something wrong?

I am always early to doctor's appointments. I can say with some confidence I've actually NEVER been late to a doctor's appointment (even though they make you wait and wait...).

Ask my husband what I'm like if we are running late to something, like a party, where everyone is late. I get tense and anxious.

I just hate being late. H-A-T-E.

So you can clearly see why this baby waiting game is making me insane. God forbid I have a child whose sole goal in life it is to drive its' mother crazy by MAKING her late. We have a due date- did the baby not get the memo? Now granted, there are still ten days until my actual due date, but with the promptness that runs in this family, is it too much to ask that the baby show it's face a few days early? For it's only mother? Doesn't guilt start working in utero?

I went to the doctor again today, and there are "no changes." Apparently "Everything seems fine." NOOOOO! I wanted changes! I wanted 100% effacement! I wanted a little dialation! I know these things mean nothing- the doctor said this just basically means I won't have the baby today, but she kept talking about my next appointment (in 11 days- ONE DAY PAST MY DUE DATE! HELL NO! LOOK AT YOUR WATCH BABY Q!), which left me feeling a little disappointed, shall we say?

It's not that we're not taking advantage of our last child-free days, because we certainly are. We are sleeping and eating out and seeing friends and spending quality time together. It is downright lovely. STILL! STILL! WHERE IS Q?

Deep Thoughts:

Why can't they make a natural, organic peanut butter that is GOOD?

Morning:

For some reason, I have it in my head that labor will start in the morning. That I will wake up with menstrual-like cramps and it will progress from there. I have no rational reason to believe this, or even irrational reason to believe this, but every morning when I rise, if there are no cramps, I think "Eh. Not today then, I guess."

(I never thought I would want labor to happen.)

People still feel the need to tell me how small I am- I suppose it's supposed to be a compliment that I have not gained weight- but I HAVE gained weight. Probably the full 35 recommended lbs. at this point. I still feel like a giant, waddling, jetpuff marshmallow man who has NO MATERNITY CLOTHES LEFT THAT FIT (ok, they fit, but they are all uncomfortable). The baby still presses it's bony little elbows against my bladder every 15 minutes. Every time it rolls, it rolls into one of my organs and I gasp a bit. It is becoming increasingly clear there ain't room for the two of us anymore, and that truth is felt, by me, every few minutes. I can't imagine it likes to be all scrunched up, knees crossed, ankles crossed, either. So bring it on.

(Am I really asking for labor to happen?)

People keep asking if we would prefer a boy or a girl. I keep saying "As long as it's one or the other, we're totally fine."

Everyone said I wouldn't be able to sleep when I was this far along, and while it's true my sleeping habits have changed (I sleep about seven hours per night, and then take a two hour nap during the day), I am sleeping great. I might wake up once to go to the bathroom, but otherwise I'm out.

(Where does the expression sleeping like a baby come from, since babies aren't really known for being the best sleepers?)

Incoherent rambling: End.