It has been a crazy day today, so let me take just a minute to get my head together.
We went to the doctor yesterday, and have no progress to report. Everything is perfect (the baby is head-down), but there’s no evidence that we’re moving into any early labor any time soon. So the contractions that have kept me up nights? “Practice.”
I went this morning to get my flu shot, which our company provides, free of charge. After standing in line for half an hour, which was fine ’cause I was chillin’ with my coworkers, I reach the front only to be told that I need a doctor’s written permission before they’ll shoot me up. Luckily, an old black nurse was in the cube next to us, and she said that I was fine if I was in my third trimester. Note to all pregnant moms in my position: saying “I’m in my third trimester and can practically smoke crack at this point” does not plead your case. Regardless, the old black nurse finally stuck a needle in my arm.
I spent last night painting with Kari for Bryan’s set, which was fun, but OHMYGOD, I hurt today. I was stupid and sat on a concrete floor for an hour or so.
In an hour, I have my work-baby-shower. I’m excited because there is food there. I doubt there will be a big turnout, because it’s at work in the middle of the day, but still. THERE’S FOOD THERE. (I’m slightly hungry.)
I adore my husband. That’s nothing new, but I thought I’d throw that in there. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner.
He makes my parachute yellow.