(First of all, mad props to @BindstheTuna for the hashtag. It seriously makes me laugh.)
“Goodnight, Wesley. Sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.”
Remember when I said that, oh, about a month ago? YEP. THAT.
Two (useless) trips to L&D, one of them being in the middle of the freaking night, and I’m still at 4 cm dilated. Had a fantastic bladder infection, non-stop contractions, and a baby who is clearly hanging on to all the organs with every bit of infant might he has. He is JUST like his brother.
We’ve had a suitcase packed since May 15th, guys. It sits in our bedroom, mocking us. Mocking ME. Mocking my uterus and my cervix and, to be quite honest, my determination.
I’ve not been a font of patience here as of late. Surprising, I know. But every mirror I pass, I gasp when I glance at myself. I am clearly not sleeping. I am clearly spending a good deal of every day and night in pain. I am clearly not myself. I am scary to behold. AND THAT’S JUST MY HEAD.
There comes a point in pregnancy when people are just downright disappointed to see you or hear from you while the baby is still inside you. They mean well, I know, but they see you and scan to the mass inside your abdomen and they’re like, God, woman, COME ON ALREADY. Which, I KNOW.
As much fun as it is to do the equivalent of a deep abdominal crunch for a full minute every two minutes for WEEKS ON END, I am also ready for this to be over. The headaches from me clenching my jaw are murder. I am to the point now where I’m doubting that there’s even a baby in there. What if it’s just a tumor? What if I’m being punk’d?
Bryan has been a godsend. So has my family. BUT NO ONE CAN MAKE THIS BABY COME OUT.
Today brought the first bit of good news I’ve had in about a month.
The baby is coming No Later Than June 7th. Induction is scheduled. AND I was approved for medical leave until then. (I’ve been burning vacation/sick leave for weeks.) Odd fact: this will put Tony and Vinnie’s birthdays EXACTLY six months apart. To the day.
I really don’t have much else to report. The house is crazy clean, because every morning, Bryan and I get up and clean the house because Today might be the day! and what if someone has to come in to watch the kids/dogs/snake? We make beds, we vacuum, we sweep, we swiffer. Bags are packed, and the nursery is ready. There is nothing else to be done.
I would say Come on, Vinnie! but in reality? Dude, you’re fine. Friday is your day.
(Which is a guarantee of a surprise water breaking scenario sometime before now and then.)