Of course, that means we spent five hours at the dealership last night, negotiating (which went very smoothly, actually, which shocked and amazed me), filling out paperwork, waiting, waiting, waiting. And as we sat there, I thought, wow. These are some seriously intense Braxton-Hicks. Wow. Not painful, per se, but yes, INTENSE. And I tried to ignore them. But they didn't seem to be going away. After about an hour of that, I mentioned to Stephen that I maybe did not feel so hot. But as soon as I said it, we were up and moving around, and it got better. When we finally got home and I ate and drank and went to the bathroom, I felt totally normal and fine.
Fast forward to today at the doctor, when she finished her exam and I said, "So, closed? long?" And she wrinkled her nose at me and said, "Um. No. You're at a centimeter....um, more like a centimeter and a half. But...still high?" And my heart rate tripled, because: yes. it is true that you can walk around for WEEKS dilated much more than that. But I never have. In fact, with both of the girls, they were born within days of starting to dilate. Will that pattern hold? Who knows. True. I mentioned that Gracie was born at 40w2d and Katie was born at 38w3d, and was that significant? And she said, "Well. On AVERAGE, third babies tend to come right around the same time as the prior babies, if not a few days earlier. So you really need to be ready around 38 weeks." At which point I told her that he would have to ride home on the floor of the van and sleep in a drawer, so let's hope he follows Gracie's pattern and not Katie's.
I am not ready. I could list all the ways I am not ready, but it is not particularly interesting and the moral of the story is: Not. Ready.
I really want to make it to February. Really, really, really. And if I can't do that, I want to make it through the weekend, during which time I am getting a MUCH anticipated pedicure, and my first haircut in four months. If I don't make it to sunday's hair cut, I will probably be hitting the six month mark before I ever get my damn hair cut. So I am willing to compromise and accept Sunday. OK, Stosh? YOU HEAR THAT?
And since I am obsessed with comparison, here's Stosh this week:
|weird angle, crappy picture, BIG BELLY|
|better picture, smaller belly|
Sunday afternoon. Preferably February. I really, really think I should get a vote in this.