I have slept about twelve hours all week long, combined. I spent all day wednesday, from 3pm on, running back and forth and unloading things. I woke up yesterday at 5:45, started running, and did not stop until Stephen and I collapsed into bed at nearly 11pm, and woke up again today at 5:45 to work early. My legs are so achey, just sitting in a chair hurts. I feel like I am nine thousand years old.
As a result, I have changed my mind. I am clearly not ready to be a mom because I. Can't. Take This. FOR REAL. I am going to die.
Of course, that does not matter, because as it happens, I am no closer to having this baby than I was nine months ago. My doctor's visit yesterday showed that, at nearly 37 weeks, I am not dilated at all and my cervix is somewhere up around my ears. Here I am, living proof that exhaustion and stress and that whole "don't lift anything over twenty pounds" business is BS, because NONE OF IT induces labor. I was talking to Robin, and she said the same thing (she went two full weeks past her due date with her first, did not dilate even one centimeter, and was finally induced). We decided that stress actually prevents labor, because the baby doesn't want to come out into all this nastiness when it's perfectly happy floating around and kicking its mother in the ribs. It makes evoluationary sense. Unfortnately, that means this baby will be born sometime around February, because our house is a total disaster area and I don't see that getting better anytime soon.
I desperately need a nap. I'm too tired to even be crabby. (ha. that is so not true.)