Bring It On

I'm still here. I swear, I don't think this child is ever coming out. What else is she waiting for? I am dilated to 3 (maybe 4 by now, who knows), sans mucus plug, have constant random contractions and she has moved so far down, I don't even think I have a bladder anymore. Maybe she's waiting for the Super Bowl to start (side note: my new nursing bras eerily smack of Janet Jackson's "wardrobe malfunction.") Or Valentine's Day. Or, heaven forbid, St. Patrick's Day.

I am trying to just appreciate the last few days (weeks?! months?!) of non-parenthood. I have been really blessed to not have sleep problems throughout this pregnancy, so I have been savoring my pillow. I have been laying on the couch watching "C.S.I." on Spike TV. I got my hair trimmed. I have been having lunch with the girls and loudly singing Destiny's Child songs by myself in the car.

The thing is, I'm mentally BORED. Maybe that's what waiting does to you. In the evening, I wander around the house looking for something to do, yet not wanting to do anything. In a weird way, I'm like, "Bring on the sleeplessness! Bring on the sore boobs! Rough me up! Come on, I can take it!" Two weeks ago, I did not feel this way. Maybe God set up the 40 week timeline for a purpose. By that point, the waiting and uncomfortability has become like Chinese water torture on your forehead. Drip. Drip. Drip. Okay! Okay! Just give me that baby! That screaming, stinky, demanding baby! I cannot eat bonbons and watch Spike TV for one more minute...

I'm sure that I will be begging for the bonbons again soon enough.

(I get my blood pressure checked again today. We'll see how that goes.)