Braxton Hicks? Check. Drop? Check. Pelvic Pressure and Back Pain? Check. Effaced? Check. Dilated? A full 3 cm Check. Discharge and Mucous Plug? Check. No More Constipation? Check. Bloody Show? Check, and Andy's favorite pregnancy medical term, methinks. This "show" started after a longer-than-usual walk around Germantown last night before catching an episode of Parenthood and going to bed, where I lay awake thinking, This could be it.
The only things missing are labor contractions and water breaking. MIA. AWOL. Not happening.
I've done the biggest jinx you can do when you're anxious for labor to start. I've put the finishing touches on the overnight bags and stashed them in my trunk, where they will, undoubtedly, melt from the unseasonably high temperatures during the next, oh, Rest. Of. My. Life.
"I'm really surprised you made it this long," says the perky, suddenly cruel-seeming doctor. "Okay, I feel the baby's head. You've definitely had your bloody show, and you're at least 3 centimeters. I really don't think you'll make it much longer. Just keep doing what you're doing."
Cruel. Cruel. Cruel.
From "Impossible" by Kelly Clarkson:
Just woke up and thought I'd try
Try to step across the line
You know that I've been thinking
About it for a while
Starting to think it's time I leave
Does me good to know I finally feel
Feel this pain, it's real, it's possible
You say
Can't change the winds to say,
Won't matter anyway
Can't reach that far 'cause it's impossible
Can't rise above this place
Won't change your mind so I pray
Breaking down the walls to the impossible
Walking by myself I know
This lonely road's becoming my new home
But I don't stop
I just keep moving on, and on
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