I think last night was a taste of what motherhood is going to be like. I went to bed at 8 p.m. (don’t judge … and yes, I realize I won’t be going to bed at 8 as a mom) and slept until 1:30 when Kris came to bed. Then I started tossing and turning and he started snoring and the baby was happily sloshing around in her own personal playground, so by 2 I decided to throw in the towel and move to the couch, thinking all of my stretched out joints would ache less on the couch. Wrong. By 3:30 I was posting on Facebook. I went back to bed for about an hour, but then by 5 I was up watching the news and then working on Thank You notes of all things. Finally at 6 I crawled back in bed and fell asleep. That good sleep that you just want to drink in. Then my alarm went off.
So I’m crabby today. I decided to stop for a bagel from Einstein Bros. After waiting in a really long drive through line they told me they ran out of cinnamon sugar bagels. Great. So I ordered chocolate chip and a large ice water. It was sad when the lady said, “Would you like it toasted or any cream cheese?” I thought for a second and then said no. Just plain old, untoasted bagels for me please.
As I drove past the Sonic I used to stop at every morning I thought, “I know this water is going to taste just like Diet Coke.” Yeah. I’m still waiting on the caffeine jitters to kick in.
So as I was laying awake last night with a tap dancing baby in my belly I couldn’t decide if I was having Braxton Hicks contractions or not. You see, Kaylee is wild. She moves with such force that my entire stomach shifts and hardens. But I couldn’t tell the difference last night between that and what I *think* are contractions. I always roll my eyes when the doctor asks, “Are you having contractions or leaking fluid?” Umm. Hell if I know lady. I’ve never had a baby. Then they always tell you if you have more than 4 Braxton Hicks in an hour to call them. I know I’ll be the girl who calls and goes in to labor and delivery only to be told, “Yeah lady. It’s not contractions. It’s your baby competing in her own personal Olympic event in there.”
As I was telling this story to my friend this morning she said she’s ready to come visit me at the hospital and be the Angel of Mercy with a vanilla Diet Coke. Then she told me that we need a code phrase, just in case I go into labor at work. We decided the phrase will be “The watermelon is ripe!” I’m supposed to utter this phrase with a calm, straight face so as to not alarm any other coworkers who would then surely call the medical cart to come haul me off. I’d rather not cause a scene.
Speaking of causing a scene. It seems that all I have to do is show up at work in the morning to draw attention these days. I’m sick of people looking at me and asking “You’re still here?” What am I supposed to say to that? “No. I’m not. You’re talking to my hologram.” Or, “I heard they’re bringing so-n-so in to do your work when you’re out. When will that be?” Um, number 1: I don’t care who does my work. I’ll be busy, you know, GIVING BIRTH and having my gallbladder ripped out. Number 2, ask the baby if you want to know when I’ll be out, she can give you a much more concrete answer.
Maybe next time someone says something like “Wow. You’re still here?” or “HOW much longer do you have?” or “You’re getting big!” I’ll just stand up and scream “THE WATERMELON IS RIPE!”
that’s awesome… haha