(Typepad is still a mess, so I am forced to write a story with no linkies, frills, or furbelows. As any good bloggess before me, I choose to tell....zee birthing story. Away we go!)
The weekend of March 28, I was terrible. I mean, I FELT Terrible. Half sick, super tired but wired, cranky, etc. I forced the FYC to drive me 1.5 hrs roundtrip to my parents' house to get a cradle just because I didn't want to drive myself ooooh sooo faaaaar. I might have actually had a tantrum. And then took a nap. I was 39 weeks pregnant, and Terrible, and givemecakeifyouwannalive.
In spite of this and other signs (like people looking at me and saying, wow, you could go any minute now huh?) I was in denial that Addie-Day was anywhere near. Convinced she was ass-down, her foot lodged under my ribs, I had to have two doctors check that out to be sure that she was ready to launch. The weekend before the Terrible set in, I had nested furiously, cleaning until my fingers tingled and my back ached. But, you know. Denial. Meetings were planned, errands went un-runned, stuff lay around in boxes and the fridge was empty. Dee. Nie. Uhl. I figured I had at least a week after my due date to count on. Everyone ELSE had gone at least a week past their due dates. Ah, but they were not having an Aries.
(we interrupt this message to say ARRGGHHH OOOOOH TYPEPAD BLOWS IT ATE MY POST AND NOW I HAVE TO GO TO BED AND WILL WRITE MORE OF THIS TOMORROW.)
To be continued...