So, I spent this weekend having Braxton-Hicks contractions, or as they're known around these parts, "getting your hopes up, only to taunt you and run away laughing at your misery." Basically anywhere from every two to five minutes, my stomach would tighten, or start cramping, and sometimes a tiny bit of pain would radiate down into my legs.
(Someone asked me - how do you know it's not the real thing? With my eyes closed, I could tell you that question came from someone who has not had children. Basically, if you can sleep through the contractions when they're two minutes apart, instead of tearing your sleeping spouse's arms off, it's not the real thing.)
All of this ramped up on Friday night after I got home from work. So I spent the evening making my mental checklist of things that had to get done before I spent 48 hours in a hospital. I kept trying to do laundry, thinking that clean underwear would be Brian's priority in the event of an early delivery. I prepacked the hospital bag with a few things. I also called our Amazing Babysitter to make sure she wasn't out of town - she is our backup plan for taking care of Helen when we rush to the hospital. There isn't anything about Mommy in a delivery room that a 3-year old needs to see.
So, basically, I worked my way through this entire weekend. Altogether I did 6 loads of laundry, cooked, cleaned, mopped, vacuumed, dusted, and polished. I even did some grocery shopping and stocked up on diapers. The contractions never stopped, but my water didn't break and nothing got more serious than that.
So there's still no baby. Now my house is clean, I'm exhausted, and still having these stupid fake contractions. I did some research online and it turns out this might be Mother Nature's way of thinning the cervix in preparation for the real thing. Since I skipped all of this fun the first time around, it looks like this child has chosen the slow-pokey way out.
Late Sunday night, I surrendered. Realizing that a full day at work on Monday was in my immediate future, I went out & bought the biggest cup of ice cream that Marble Slab sells, and ate the entire thing. It made me feel a little better. Then I got to work today and someone said, "Hey, I thought you'd have the baby by now" and I burst into tears. For two hours, I couldn't stop crying. Freakin' pregnancy hormones have kicked into full gear after leaving me alone for most of the pregnancy.
Clearly, the situation calls for more ice cream - STAT.