Old/new fantasies

Old fantasies included: sex and opulence and exotic travel and skimpy outfits and ridiculously expensive, perilously high heels.

New fantasies include: having the use of two hands at once; a full night of sleep; a robot that changes diapers; regular showers; time to write; time to read. . .

I love the shit out of the kid (and on that note, who knew I'd be fine smearing someone's anus with Butt Paste?), but I miss you all.

And today makes one week

Today the boy turns a week old.

This picture was taken last Saturday, and it is one of my favorites. We've taken 8 million more, but I just don't have it together to get them loaded and up yet.

I'd love to say I've seen all kinds of changes in him in the past week, but the truth is, I was heavily sedated for the first few days, and only mildly less so until maybe Sunday when we left the hospital.

I can say for sure he's a lot more alert and he eats a lot more. And he is the softest, sweetest, best snuggler on the planet. I believe this for an absolute fact.

So a week.

It's kind of crazy to measure time of life in weeks, isn't it? I briefly considered adding up my weeks, and then thought the better of it.

But then when you're measuring baby, it's all inches and ounces. And weeks and days. (And sometimes hours and minutes, no?)

But the days. In terms of the C-section, it's like people said - every day is a bit better. Slowly adding up to a lot better.

Because a week ago, I couldn't feel anything from my breast down. I was peeing through a tube. And now, look, I'm walking!

I can't remember, but I think they took the epidural out and turned off the Pitocin Thursday afternoon. They said once I could start feeling my legs enough to walk, they'd take out the catheter.

And I remember thinking, but I love the catheter! It's like magic! Because I don't think there's any way I'll be able to get out of bed again! Ever!

And then they made me get out of bed to pee. It's up there with scariest things I've ever done. But I got up and then was very much like holymotherofgod, no, no, nonono I most definitely cannot do this again.

But then I did it again. And again. And then once on my own. Although really, if they'd kept accompanying me, I'd have let them.

I will tell you that I've never had so many strangers see so many of my private bits. And I didn't even care.

In fact, I've never asked so many people to look at my nipples. Come to think of it, I don't believe I'd ever asked anyone to look at my nipples.

I thought about it and really, no, not once. And then you give birth and try to breastfeed, and there is a lot of what about my nipples?

But that's a whole nother story.

As is the suppository.

Anyway, hi!

My mama loves me, she loves me...

Jordan is aleep, Nick is getting a sandwich, and I am taking advantage of his laptop and air card. (No wifi in maternity! Gasp!)

The blogging, not so easy at the moment. But I really wanted to share some pics of the honest-to-goodness most incredible kid on the entire planet.

And we're pretty sure we're not biased in our assertion.

Just-born pouty lips.Newly born with happy happy Gramma Betty.And look how proud we are. And today, asleep in Dad's arms.The C-section business sucks pretty tremendously, but even so, I'm having the time of my life.

Happy weekend, all!

Guest Blog: Jordan is here

Jordan arrived at 4:24 p.m. today. He is 21.25 inches long and weighs 8 pounds and 14 ounces. Lisa and Jordan are both very healthy and are doing fine. Nick

Well, yah

I told you this would be hard.

We have been here since 7 pm last night.

The Cervidil did nothing. Why? Because I have some scarring on my cervix.

The OB has tried three times to break it up. Nothing doing. And so I have to have a C-section.

We are next but we're also so fucking healthy that we'e not an emergency. So we've been about to be taken in to the OR since oh. noonish.

I have an IV. I have a catheter. I had an epidural. I can't feel most of my body.

I'm nauseous; Ive thrown up. A bunch. I might do so again - not clear at the moment.

I've cried and cried. It scares the shit out of me.

And now they just said the OB I've been waiting on isn't feeling well. So we are waiting on her replacement from the practice.

Who, on the bright side, might be less of a bitch than today's doctor.

I'm so upset. And I'm so frustrated. I was prepared for stamina-requiring feats of strength.

But this?

And you know you're never sure. But youre sure you could be right...

I am off the waiting list!

Tonight! Tonight I go in to the hospital and they do the Cervidil business and tomorrow they induce and then!

THEN WE HAVE A BABY!!!

Thank you so incredibly much for all your support through this entire up and downy process. It sounds cheesy, since we don't actually know each other in person, but it means a lot to me.

I can't tell you how much better it made me feel yesterday to have two things: one, all the fantastic reassurance from women who have given birth. And two, all the amazing, defensive, I'll-kick-the-ass-of-anyone-who-tries-to-hurt-you vitriol on my behalf.

Both made me feel somehow protected and so very cared about.

Details: I can't eat past five, and I'm trying to figure out best strategy for food that will carry me through.

While also frantically doing laundry and calling friends and such. And maybe trying to put together a playlist.

And maybe also just generally jumping up and down in excitement! Tomorrow!

Tomorrow I finally finally finally get to hold my kid!

And now it occurs to me maybe the whole thing has been that the little guy is more like me than like his dad? And he's all, "Getting anything done in advance? Is so whatever."

Hugs to all of you and can't wait to introduce you!

In which I hate everything and even chocolate doesn't mitigate the bitter

Warning: this is a hugely long ranty hatey hate post. If you're having a great Monday or a short attention span, maybe skip this one.

I hate this year. I just hate it.

So far, it's been the hardest year of my life.

Not one fucking thing has been easy so far. Rather, every single thing has been as difficult as possible.

I said this to Nick the other day, and he agreed it's been difficult, but not the hardest.

And I was all thinking, oh fuck you Mr. Brightside.

But in actuality replied, "Yeah, well, when your dad dies, I'll check in on how you rate it."

My dad's death, while I don't think about it every minute, tints just about everything. I don't know if it would be different if it hadn't been suicide. I've thought about it, and I really don't know.

What I do know is that that doesn't help matters.

The beginning of the year wasn't easy, in that I was exhausted and dealing with all the newness of pregnancy.

And then the selling of Nick's place was fraught with back and forth bullshit, although in the end worked out OK.

And then my dad's suicide attempt in April was incredibly terrible. Although of course not as devastating as when he succeeded the following month.

That pretty much shot my world to hell, and I can't say I've gotten all that far in recovering.

I just forced myself to focus on other stuff. Which was made easier by the move to a new place and the impending baby.

And our new place, while amazing and oldoldold with oldoldold details and charm, turns out to have been repaired at every turn with bubble gum and band-aids. We knew about a lot of it. Just maybe not half of everything.

Thus, while delightful in many ways, this house is so needy. And I currently have no abilities or energy.

Currently, in fact, I am so needy. Which I also hate.

Which brings me to my nearly final of course this is so fucking hard because how could one goddamn fucking thing be easy this year?

My OB told me this morning that his mother-in-law passed away. The funeral is Friday.

Not to make this about me, but of course this is all about me. Friday is my induction date.

And since the little rat bastard shows no signs of arriving soon - and in fact seems to be all delightedly happy in there. . .I am scheduled to be massively, increasingly goddamn pregnant all the way to Friday.

Just to have some OB who is new to the practice. I'm on the wait list for Wednesday. Which would be another OB I've never met. But at least has been there a long time.

Maybe this doesn't even fucking matter. I don't know.

I told him I would be happy to be induced that very minute. Could they do it then and there? But they are booked all week.

When he said, "You're only a couple days past due, and Friday is not that far away!" I seriously wanted to reach across the desk and poke him in the eye. Veryvery hard.

Instead I said, sure, put me on the Wednesday wait list. I'll call tomorrow to see.

I managed to get out of the building before bursting into tears. I called Nick and sobbed and sobbed. If you saw a hugely pregnant woman wailing into a cell phone on 20th street this morning, that would've been me.

And then I called Betty, and said that I'm pretty sure this fucking kid is going to weigh 20 lbs by Friday.

As of today's measurements, he's 8 lbs 13 oz - give or take a pound and a half, they said.

I am trying not to resent him, because it's not his fault. But I am so big and tired and stretched and burny and I just hate all of it.

And because of how the rest of everything has gone this entire ass-sucking year, I currently have every expectation that I'll be in labor for like 30 fucking hours and wind up with a C-section.

I hate everything.

Candy, Candy, Candy I can't let you go

I'm still pregnant.

Friends keep calling, emailing, texting. And I have to be all, nope. Nothing.

It's very anticlimactic.

But like every day lately, maybe today will be the day?

What I just this moment realized I don't know - and maybe you do? - is this. Is it that the kid triggers my body to go into labor? Like, he produces some hormone that causes me to react? Or is it my body that just decides it's time?

Because of course I have been putting all the blame on him until I typed the words above.

Also, what I forgot to mention to you about all the testing last week was this. With all the detailed ultrasoundy measurements they proffered a size estimate.

8 lbs, 6 ounces. Give or take 20 ounces.

Apparently it's impossible to predict accurately, but they plug all these numbers in and get a calculation, with the understanding that there's a wide margin of error.

So. That means as of last Thursday, even if you minus 20 ounces, he was still, what, like 7 pounds?? And 10, if you add the 20?

Eeeee!

And every goddamn day, he's just packing it on.

The truth is, I've tried to be all sweet and loving and, "Oh, sweetheart, it' so pretty and sunny! You're going to love it on the outside! Today would be a great day to be born!"

But you know me. I don't always succeed.

This morning, Nick was cuddling me, with his hand under my stomach, feeling the boy all tap-tap-tapping on his hand.

"It really is miraculous, isn't it, Lis? You're doing something completely magical."

And it is true. Growing a whole human being inside your body is kind of crazy magic.

Thinking about it made me breathless. I teared up. It is just so amazing.

But then I got my breath back and said, "Yes. And now it's time for the little 7-10 pound fucker to get out."

Week 40 birthday tummy

I like last night's photo better, as I had to take my own tummy pic today, as Nick let me sleep in. For reasons you will see below.

So the tummy picture, taken in the bathroom mirror, is not exactly the way I wanted to document 40 weeks. But you do what you can.But before launching into my story, thank you all so much. I just LOVE all the stories you shared. Thank you, really. They were all little birthday presents and Betty and I had such a good time reading them.

However, I commented back to very few because we read many of them on my BlackBerry during our four or so hours at the hospital yesterday.

NOT because I was having a baby - no! But because the minute Betty arrived at my house with a bag of chocolate bars and a lovely purple orchid!, I realized I was bleeding.

Which caused my OB to direct me straight to the hospital.

Where they gave me the biggest maxi-pad on the planet, in order to monitor the blood business, and hooked me up for a non-stress test and a contraction-measuring monitor.

The baby, his heartbeat is awesome. And I was having mild and completely random contractions. Who knew?

They then sent me downstairs for an ultrasound and a biophysical profile of the kid.

On a stretcher. I got wheeled everywhere. Not a palanquin, but close!

So.

The little dude looks to be extremely healthy. Everything they measured was totally normal and good and strong. Also, his testicles are huge.

The ultrasound woman asked if I know the gender, and I said, "Yah, a boy."

She replied, "Oh, it's quite a boy all right. I was just didn't know if you'd wanted to know. Look. His legs are apart. We call this the turtle view."

Much like looking at clouds, you could see how they decided the view from above (below?) was a turtle shell and head poking forward.

So he passed all these tests, and they did some more heart monitoring. And said they still didn't know why I was bleeding, but it was tapering, and so they offered me two options.

One: be induced, likely have a long labor, and stick around until I finally had a baby.

Two: go home, have my birthday dinner (because yes, I kept asking) and in all likelihood return to throw it up while in labor later.

I chose option two. With the signed promise to return if there was any more bleeding, contractions, decreased fetal movement. And the hope of launching into labor.

There was none of the above. Which didn't mean I wasn't up every hour checking. Which is why Nick snuck out early, leaving me in exhausted sleep.

So for my birthday, I rocked those platforms, had a fantastic dinner, and really, really loved my birthday start to finish. Even with the hospital bits.

And now it's Friday, and if you could think good, healthy, pro-labor (sounds so British politics, doesn't it?) thoughts for us, I'd really appreciate it.

And if I am having a baby, I will certainly let you know.

I so appreciate you caring about us and checking in regularly. Happy weekend, all!

Oh so many countries and years have passed. Or, 40 years ago today.

This photo would've been taken about halfway through Betty's pregnancy with me.

Isn't she pretty?

And this one was not long after I was born.

My mom said she woke up on August 13 with labor pains. She was supposed to go shopping that day with her friend Helen.

She picked up the phone to call and tell her she was in labor. But it being India, and telephone service then being sketch, the phones were out.

So she called a taxi and went over to Helen's to tell her that she simply couldn't go shopping, since she'd be having her baby.

And then, knowing labor took a long time, she taxied home, by which time the phones were working. She called my dad, who rushed home to find Betty having a leisurely shower.

He insisted they head to the hospital. Which they did. To find their friend Helen had beaten them there in her excitement. But also in her excitement, she'd forgotten cab fare.

They paid the cab, headed in, and a few hours later, Betty had me.

She said there was maybe some yelling of "Fuck you, Dr. Lamaze!" in the process. It's pretty hard to imagine, but I love the idea.

And that's my birthday story.

If you feel so inclined, I'd love to hear something about you, your birthday, your mom, your kids, your dog or cat, or really anything you'd like to share.

Also, no sign of the boy. Stubborn like his mama already.

Hugs to all of you and thanks for joining me on my birthday!

I gave myself to sin. I gave myself to Providence.

I really want to stick my feet in Nick's koi pond.

This is not a euphemism for anything.

The fact is that I have of late become obsessed with water and ice.

Nick had to forcibly restrain strongly discourage me from climbing into one of those ice bag freezers outside a convenience store on Sunday.

So the lobby of Nick's building has this marble koi pond with these pretty orange and white fish. Normally, I find koi kind of creepy, with their big, gaping mouths and their interest in passers-by.

But the other night, while waiting in his lobby, I had this nearly irresistible urge to get in that marble pond.

It just looked so refreshingly chilled. And the stones on the bottom looked so smooth. Even the fish looked cool and smooth.

And I was so hot and tired and sweaty.

Though it's rather shallow, I figured I could submerge a good half my body before anyone even noticed. Plus, the guard knows me. Maybe he wouldn't say anything?

So I confessed this urge to Nick.

He said a couple times per summer people get in trouble for attempting to do just that. The guard has to stop them as they're sitting on the edge, removing shoes and socks.

He gave me a look. He had a tone.

"One," he said, "those fish are expensive. Moreover," he added very sternly, "it's trashy behavior."

Oh. But. It would feel so good!

So last night I suggested we go in after hours and sit with our feet in the pond. Who would know?

He said if anything happened to the fish, they'd play back the security tapes, and know exactly who was responsible.

Which led me to suggest we sneak in wearing Nixon masks, a la The Ice Storm.

"That's a great idea, Lis. Because they'd never be able to identify the big guy in the seersucker suit holding hands with the hugely pregnant woman. Not as long as the two of them were wearing Nixon masks."

Well, yah, there is that.

The doing of IT

At some point in the last couple weeks, a number of people told me what you need to do to hasten labor: have sex.

Quite a few of you have left this in comments as well.

Friends who have given birth, are OBs, or have worked with OBs or midwives told me this one after the other, all right around the same time.

Apparently it has something to do with the hormonal composition of semen working to thin your cervix.

So I went home, armed with this knowledge. I weighed it against voluntarily suggesting an activity which currently not only does not appeal, but strikes me as downright horrendous.

But it's kind of like if you've ever had a job you hate that you've stuck out for a year so you will have it on your resume. Or if you've run a 10K that you weren't in shape for but were determined to finish. Or something of the sort.

I've done both, and know that if I clench my teeth and think of England, I can get through almost anything.

Steeled with this understanding of myself, and sitting in my comfy recliner, I looked balefully across the room at Nick, who was getting ready for bed.

"Apparently, we need to do it."

"Really?"

Surprise and delight from a man who had previously been assured that the doing of IT would likely not take place again until, oh, maybe 2010. And maybe not even then. Because look where it had gotten me.

"Yeah." I added glumly, "It's supposed to thin my cervix. Help get the boy out."

"OK, then!"

He was all kinds of pleased. I was all kinds of annoyed.

I was, as is currently my wont, sitting bare-bellied, with my hands on my tummy. Because one, it's cool to feel the boy move. And two, it itches less.

I glowered back and forth between Nick and the belly. As if they were in cahoots on this.

And I realized the following: If I put one hand on each side of my belly button and squeezed the skin, it made a ring of concentric circles. And the middle poked out in a rather intriguing way.

So I said, "Hey, look! When I do this, doesn't the middle of my belly button look like the head of a tiny penis?"

Because it did, it really did.

At which point it was Nick's turn to glare at me.

"You want to make sure this isn't remotely appealing for me, don't you?"

Birthday platforms, foot binding and tapeworm

So ever since deciding to postpone induction, I've gotten a little more zen about being pregnant for the rest of my life.

Or at least for a whole nother week.

Yesterday I picked up a totally-on-sale-cheap-and-cute! top and pair of capris at Target to wear on Thursday for my birthday. When I am certain to still be pregnant.

I am going to look cute, dammit, and I'm going to go out and celebrate. I'm going to wear the platform shoes above, which I miss like crazy. Even if this means Nick has to carry me.

And seriously. Where is my palanquin? Why am I not being carried around?

I'm sure you're starting to wonder where this is going and what will actually be the point in all this?

I'm sitting around getting pregnanter and pregnanter, and my already stretched tummy, the one that could touch Russia, is getting even more distended.

So I started thinking about foot binding. And how tight binding might actually be a good strategy with the belly for holding it all in.

But I imagine that you'd have to start earlier than now, and what if you warped your kid? Like, he came out with rib indents in his thigh? Or worse, his forehead?

Worrisome.

Which then led me to tapeworm.

And let me make one thing clear: Normally I don't think of the kid as a parasite.

Or anyway, not lately.

I haven't thought of him in that way regularly since he got big enough to seem like an actual human in there. Rather than some small, unimaginable being that just made me feel like complete crap all the time.

So supposedly, if you have a tapeworm - which I have never had, but desperately, fucked-up-ly, wanted in high school, because how skinny would you be? - you can entice it out with milk. Like, you sit in a warm milk bath, and it gets all curious, and comes on out and drowns in the milk.

Or maybe you hold a glass of milk in front of your mouth and catch it.

A significantly more horrifying exit, in my opinion.

Sooooo.

This then led me to wondering what one might use to entice a baby out. They come out sort of discombobulated and not used to eating with their mouths, right?

So the milk bath would be pointless.

But maybe some fun music, played right outside your hoo-ha? Or shaking a rattle down there? Or Barney songs? Teletubbies?

???

Week 39 tummy

What I realized this week was that I now throw the word "cervix" around like it's nothing.

"So my cervix. . ."

I mean, I'm not all, "So that cloud formation reminds me of my cervix."

But women at the office who have given birth started asking about the state of my cervix several weeks ago. The first time it happened, I kind of twitched. But you know how rapidly you get used to things?

So I'll pass them in the hall and they'll be all, "What did the OB say? Dilated yet?"

Yah. So my cervix? It has not budged.

The full moon? Did nothing.

I saw my friend Laura a few days ago and she said something like, "I'm really sorry to tell you this, but you just don't look haggard enough to be having your baby yet."

Today, though, don't you think I look haggard enough? I think so.

On Wednesday I had a good talk with my OB about the non-budginess of my cervix, the size of my belly, and an exit strategy for the kid.

Some of you are going to think I'm crazy, but here's what we came to: I've postponed the induction date a week.

Because, here's the thing. He said he'd do whatever I want past my due date. But the fact is that if your body isn't ready, well, it isn't ready for some reason.

We discussed the balance between rushing your body/the kid, and letting him get too big.

It turns out that even though I think my husband is a giant and my belly it is the size of Burkina Faso, in the scheme of baby-house sizes, is not actually shockingly huge.

(On an inappropriate and off-topic side bar, one has to assume that my inability to accurately judge size probably endeared me to more than a few men in my dating career.)

Anyway.

He doesn't think the kid is a Baby of Unusual Size.

And what it comes down to is this.

Much as I want to be un-preg, giving him more of a chance to arrive on his own makes me a lot more mentally and emotionally comfortable.

You don't know how you or your baby will react to induction. I've waited this many years to have a baby in the first place, and spent this many weeks trying to provide a healthy, safe environment for him along the way.

What's another potential week in the scheme?

Which is not to say that at some point next week I won't have thrown rationality entirely out the window and find myself sobbing on the floor and blaming Nick entirely for this.

But at the moment, haggard enough or no, this seems like the best way to go.

And anyway, who doesn't love a little caprice in a pregnant wife?

(Laughs like the madwoman in the attic.)

TMI Thursday: Piggy button edition.

For the who didn't want to see the belly non-button, you're warned.

This pink expanse that looks like a little pig nose is the area formerly known as my belly button.

I wasn't going to even take a picture, much less post. But LiLu suggested it for TIMT, and I thought, ah, what the hell. The unexamined life is not worth living, or some such thing. No?

I told you it was icky.And yes, I'm still here. I will tell you more about this tomorrow. When I'm sure I'll still be here.

At this point, I feel like I'm going to be pregnant for the rest of my life.

God willing, the belly button I used to love will go back to some semblance of normal. And maybe pregnancy amnesia will strike, as everyone says it does.

I keep thinking it just can't get any farther out, because how much more out is there for it to go? And then it does.

If I lived in Alaska, I'd be able to touch Russia with it from my front porch.

Except for the fact that it's both tender and attached to my body, I sort of don't even consider it mine anymore. It's more just like an interesting animal set aside for observation.

So I wonder if it will get to the point where the ridge and those two itty bitty little dimples disappear entirely?

Pregnancy weight

I still don't know how much weight I've gained.

I don't want to know. I just want a tally at the end.

The nurses at the OB's office don't even blink when I close my eyes and ask them not to say the number out loud. We will do this again this afternoon. They are fine with it.

I know myself. I knew from the beginning that I'd obsess about numbers along the way.

Which is unhealthy in normal life, and really not what I wanted in pregnancy. I just decided that as long as they told me it was fine every time, I'd go with that.

Nick, Betty and I all think it's probably about 30 lbs. The OB said to gain 25-35, and so this is right about there. I'm OK with that.

But I know I wouldn't have been, month by month and now week by week, if I'd known the number. I'd have stressed about the stupid number. I'd have translated that into thinking about how to keep it on the low end of the OK spectrum. Or maybe a little lower.

This is me. This is how I am. Old habits die hard.

But this, this has been pretty liberating.

I haven't embraced the erroneous "You're eating for two! Eat whatever you want!"

Because the fact is, to gain the way they want you to, you only get 300 extra calories a day. This is not actually a whole lot.

That said, I have been more liberal with my diet in the last nine months than since I was 15 and started obsessing.

I have treats, even though I know I can't balance them out with insane amounts of really hard exercise. I've had more milkshakes in pregnancy than I have since I was a child. I don't have them daily or even weekly. But I do.

And hamburgers! And cheeseburgers! And Reubens! Do you know how good Reuben sandwiches are? They might be my new crack.

I don't have anything to compare it to, but So's Your Mom makes a really yummy one.

And eating these things (almost) without feeling guilty? What a novelty! What a delight!

Last week, when I was at the cardiologist (confirmation: normal) I asked the Physician's Assistant, who weighed me, not to tell me.

She gave me a look and was all, "Well, that's one way to do it."

And I was all, "Yup!"

But really, I felt like saying, "Listen, judgeypants, you and your raised eyebrows should maybe just fuck off. And is that a sharp implement on the counter? Because clearly have no idea how stabby pregnant women of an as-yet-to-be-determined amount of weight can be."

Grr.

Gas emergency. Who knew we lived life on the edge?

It's not the kind I'm sure you're thinking, what with all the pregnancy details I've fed you.

We have a gas stove, and every once in a while since we moved in six weeks ago, I've been sure I smelled gas. But not every day. And Nick didn't smell it, so I thought I was being hyper-sensitive.

So finally Nick smelled it. And as we're having a plumber come out to deal with some of the other endless house stuff, he figured he'd ask him about the stove.

Which is when the plumber said to call Washington Gas. Call them now! And tell them about our possible gas leak!

So I did.

It turns out that when you report a gas smell, it is a Gas Emergency.

The woman asked me for details. Had I evacuated the area?

Evacuated?! Well, sort of. I said I was at work.

She said they'd have their gas emergency crew respond to this as soon as possible.

They don't mess around.

She asked "Can you be home?"

"You mean today?" I figured if we could schedule it for late in the day, I could just leave a bit early.

"As soon as possible. If they arrive and you aren't there, and they can't turn off your gas outside, they'll have to force entry."

"Force entry?"

They will break down your door to get in.

So I said I'd get home as soon as possible, but it could take me an hour. And if they got there and couldn't get in, could they just call me?

No. They cannot call you.

Why not? She did not know.

So I asked her please, please to tell them not to break down my door within the hour. That I'd get home as soon as I could.

"OK. Don't turn on any lights. Don't use your cell phone."

Anything, anything can ignite a spark. Which, if there's gas in the house, can cause an explosion.

!?!

So. The Gas Emergency Man pulled up in the Gas Emergency Van just after I got home.

He identified the source of the leak. He turned off the gas line into the stove. He hung a big WARNING! tag on the now non-functional stove.

I asked if he'd ever broken anyone's door down. He said, very seriously, that the Fire Department breaks the doors for them.

The whole six weeks we've lived there, we've been flicking lights on and off, using computers, chatting on the phone.

We had no idea we'd been skirting the danger line.

STILL here

This is what people keep saying to me at the office.

"You're STILL here?!"

I'm still here.

Betty and our dear family friend Pat were both sure August 2 would be the day. They both had this feeling.

So I woke up yesterday morning looking for signs. Nothin'. All day, hopeful. Nothin'.

I'm still here.

Several people have suggested it'll happen on the full moon, which is the 6th. Apparently a lot of women go into labor on the full moon.

On the downside, maternity wards are packed. The ER is full of crazies. And people come into the hospital with all kinds of bizarro stuff.

From what I hear.

On another downside, my friend Eileen - who I haven't seen in 18 years! - is coming on Friday for the weekend. She's lives in CA and will be out here for work.

Would be awesome if he arrived just a wee bit before, so she could meet him. Or right after. But obviously, so not under my control.

David thinks it'll happen at 4 pm on Friday.

A lot of my friends keep saying they're sure it'll happen soon. Some have specific days.

Others remind me of the fact that first babies tend to go to term, if not past it.

And yes, I have scheduled an induction for the Friday the 14. My OB is at the hospital on Fridays, and I felt like just past due date is fair.

I know there are good reasons to just wait. I know it ups your odds for a C-section.

There are people who think the induction is a Very. Bad. Idea.

(Also, I'm pretty bummed about the idea of spending the night of my 40th birthday in the hospital with Cervidil in my hoo-ha.)

I feel like if I get to next Wednesday and feel like I can keep waiting, I will cancel it. But otherwise, that's the plan.

Because I'm one of the few people who seems to be really concerned about the possible ginormity of my progeny. I suppose because it's all, um, closest to home for me.

Which is why I've posted this picture, taken on our honeymoon. As a reminder. Nick, AKA The Father is twice my size, if not bigger. Before I got pregnant, he was twice my weight, plus some.

His bones, they are enormous. All his people are giants.

This makes me so not inclined to be all, "Stay in there and fatten up as long as you like, my pretty!"