We’ve endured 9 months of waiting.
We have the nursery pretty much complete, the car seats in are in the vehicles, our bags have been in the trunk for a month.
I have had the pregnancy glow. Along with the pregnancy sweat in between and underneath my boobs and other places I’d rather not say.
I’ve taken my cute weekly, monthly maternity pictures.
I’ve gotten the you are so cute pregnant compliments.
The omg you’re all belly compliments.
I’ve enjoyed your movements. Your sweet hiccups. Your little elbow and foot jabs.
Nick and I got a surprise 3D ultra sound and seeing your beautiful little face was a high point. Big pouty lips that you obviously got from your mother ;). Every ultra sound was exciting. And we shared the pictures with everyone.
I’ve made it a point to still dress cute. Or attempted to dress cute. Because for some reason as my belly grew during this pregnancy my ass shrunk and I’ve suffered from NOASSATALL for the last 4 or so months.
I’ve washed baby outfits.
I’ve sterilized the bottles and binkies (aka pacifiers).
I’ve nested. And nested. From the ceiling fans to base boards, I have cleaned. Disinfected. Wiped down.
I have endured almost a month of nonstop daily contractions. I’m dilated 3 cm. At 4 I can get my epidural but your hell bent on chillaxin at 3 cm and letting me be in agony.
You’ve spent even longer treating my vagina as a bass drum and sending sharp shooting pains every time you’ve kicked or head butted it from the inside. Sometimes it’s happen in public and reflexively I grab my crotch because it hurts so bad. Resulting in looks that range from “bless her heart” to “what the hell”. Turns out it’s called lightning vagina. Seriously. Look it up.
Spent almost an entire week on the Labor and delivery floor welcoming your cousin Addison into the world.
Really hoped that would have triggered a desire for you to vacate the premises. Aka as my insides.
Two false alarm trips to labor and delivery and we are still waiting.
I’m officially up every two to three hours during the night anyway. Either because I have to pee (please get the F off my bladder) to night time boob milk leakage, night sweats, or my favorite, contractions. So there’s no sleep. For anyone. Not me. Not your dad. Not your fur siblings. No one.
We are past the point of exhaustion. Past the point of anxiousness. And I’m so very sick and tired of having people tell me to be patient. I am not patient. At all. And patience as a virtue is beyond stupid. Purpose. I like things to be done with purpose and in a timely manner.
I didn’t get to finish the above post because I just so happened to have an ob appointment and I was at 4 cm sooooooo we are in labor and delivery 🙂