Doug was a little more anxious than usual and he was quiet as he drove me to the hospital for Round Two of Induction.  I tried to make small talk, because he wasn’t the only one who was nervous.  I was the one having the baby and my nerves were shot.  He dropped me off by the Emergency Room doors so that I could be admitted while he parked the car.

I got the same room as the day before, and it felt like “home” in a strange way.  My nurse, Lori, was absolutely wonderful.  She told me to undress, gown up and that the on call OB/GYN, Dr. P, would be in to see me shortly.  He was reviewing my chart, and since I had seen him twice for prenatal care, he was familiar with my chronic hypertension, PCOS, and history for pre-eclampsia.

I sat down in the bed after changing.  It was 7:15 a.m.  Just before 8 o’clock, Dr. P came to my room to check my cervix.  It was determined that I was still only 2-3 centimeters dilated, but my cervix was now very soft and could probably handle induction by pitocin fairly well.  I was skeptical, because it didn’t work with Dawson, but I was willing to try again.  I was ready to have this baby.

Dr. P guessed that my baby would be born some time around midnight, weighing 3700 grams (he made this guess by external palpation).  When I asked what that was in pounds, he joked, “I’m not sure, my hands aren’t equipped to convert metric.”

My contractions began about an hour later, mild at first, just a stronger version of menstrual cramps. Every 30 minutes Lori came into check on me, as well as up the pitocin.  My labor was progressing gradually, but not as fast as expected.  In fact, when I got up to use the bathroom, the contractions stopped altogether.

At around noon, Dr. P came in and broke my water.  That’s when the fun began.  My contractions were stronger, closer together and I managed to breathe through most of them for about two hours.  Somewhere between five and six centimeters I couldn’t take it anymore.  Every time I took a breath, I felt such horrible pain.  Lori assured me that the pitocin contractions are like a mack truck slamming into my uterine wall, and that it was okay if I wanted the epidural.

“Last time I checked,” she said, “they don’t give medals for natural childbirth.”

I decided the epidural was the best choice because subconsciously the pain was making it hard for me to relax and therefore my cervix wasn’t dilating past six.  After the anesthesiologist came in to administer the epidural, I felt relieved.  But then it took him three tries to get the catheter into my back, and when he finally “got it” I was ready for a nap.

At first the epidural was great.  I didn’t feel the horrible contractions any longer, but I saw them on the monitor and wondered if I would have been able to handle such forceful waves of pain.  A few hours later, I noticed only my right side was numb, the left side of my body was only partly numb and mostly tingly.  I pressed a button for a bolster of medicine and still I could feel the left side of my body.  It made me nervous.

Sometime around 5:30, Dr. P came to check my cervix and I was happy to discover I was at nine centimeters and the doctor said it would probably be 3 to 4 hours before the baby was born.

No sooner than he said those words, the baby’s heart rate dropped significantly and the sound was like a drum in my ears.  Before I could make sense of what the doctor and nurses were saying, Lori put an oxygen mask over my face and told me to inhale through my nose and exhale through my mouth.    I was trying not to panic, but the heart rate wasn’t going up.  The other nurse helped to roll me over to my left side, then to my right side.  The heart rate went up a bit, and Dr. P ordered an electronic fetal monitoring device to be attached to the baby’s scalp.

Once that was complete, the heart rate was better, but later took another dip.  With the oxygen mask still on my face, Dr. P checked my cervix.  I was at ten centimeters and the nurses and Dr. P ordered me to push.

I heard my doctor say, “I’m going to need to use the vacuum, baby needs to come out.  He’s had enough of this birth canal, we need to get him out to get his heart rate back up.”  Surprisingly, the doctor was so calm through it all.  He never got excited or worried.  He was so in control and I think that helped me to deliver my baby.

Through all the chaos and panic, somehow, I managed to push five (maybe six?) times and Owen Thomas Tuszke was born at 5:57 p.m.  The umbilical cord was around his neck, it happened sometime during his travels down the birth canal, which is probably what made his heart rate drop.  Once he was out, the nurse whisked him to the isolette and suctioned him.  After what felt like forever, I heard him cry.  He was not happy.

So much for 3 to 4 hours, I told Dr. P.  He laughed as he stitched my tear.  I remember my legs, my whole body, really, shaking uncontrollably.  I kept looking over to the isolette to see the nurses cleaning Owen and weighing and measuring him.

“He’s perfect,” Lori said. “And his color is good.  He’s got lungs!”

Owen cried for a few minutes and once he was wrapped in blankets, he was making the most adorable whimpering sounds.  It was almost like he was telling us all about his journey into this world.  I cried tears of joy and when the nurse put him in my arms, I was absolutely in love.

And he really is perfect.

We got to the check-in desk of the ER just after 7 a.m. and I had to wait for the walk-in patient in front of me to be admitted.  He was an elderly gentleman with a bloody nose.  I noticed his handkerchief was stained red and most of his shirt and hands were covered. I felt sad that he had to endure such a trauma.

I was also nervous about the people in the waiting room wearing doctor’s masks.  Visions of swine flu danced in my head, and I took a few steps back to avoid contracting a contagious disease.

I was admitted to my room shortly thereafter.  After the nurse checked me in I completed the paperwork and answered the million admittance questions.  Then I waited two hours to see my doctor who was in the OR for a cesarean section.

Dr. Boehm started the induction with a prostaglandin pill called misoprostal and after two hours I was sent home to “progess” in a more relaxing setting until tomorrow morning when I go back at 7 a.m.

Once I got home I took a two hour nap, checked e-mails, napped again and then woke up starving and feeling crampy.  So maybe the prostaglandin is working, maybe it’s effacing the cervix or dilating it more.  I don’t feel contractions yet, but I do feel mild menstrual cramps and lower back pain.

I’m going to use my massage chair, take a shower and then settle in with back issues of Real Simple magazine until I fall asleep.

I promise to post again as soon as I can, and I’ll be updating Facebook and Twitter via BlackBerry if possible tomorrow.

“Give or take 15 ounces either way,” says the technician, and I swear my vagina let out a scream of terror.

I left the exam room and called Doug to let him know the results.  He laughed.  I’m certain he gets a big kick out of the thought of me being in immense pain.  I’m thinking of ways to get revenge.  Send your suggestions, will ya?

I had time between the ultrasound and my scheduled 39 week appointment, so I drove down to Taco Bell and enjoyed a ranchero chicken soft taco and fiesta potatoes.  I had been craving the stuff for a week or more, and i figured I better indulge now, before many sleepless nights and foggy days commence.  It was worth it.  Of course, I needed a Tums post lunch, but I survived.

When I got back to the OB/GYN department for my appointment, I ran into a girl I went to high school with.  She was a year or two behind me in school and I remember her as being very annoying back then.  She never stopped talking, always asked a boat load of questions and I never enjoyed talking to her.  I remember smiling and nodding a lot, and never finding a way to escape her chattering.

Turns out, some people never change.  She wanted to know how far along I was, what I was having (“a baby, duh”) and what names I had chosen.  Where was my husband, she asked, and why doesn’t he come to the appointment with you?  When she asked if this was my first baby, I shook my head and reached into my purse for my BlackBerry.  I proceeded to pretend I was very busy checking work e-mails.  I was really Twittering.  I think I posted an update that said, “Why do I always run into annoying people at the doc’s office?”

Finally the nurse called me back and I waited patiently for Dr. Fatchikov to examine me.  He knocked on the door shortly thereafter.  I was yawning and he said, “Oh, that is the face of an exhausted and desperate woman.”

“Yes,” I said. “I am ready to have this baby.  The longer I am pregnant, the more tired I get.  Sadly that won’t change post baby!”

When he checked my cervix, Dr. F discovered I was still stuck between 2 and 3 centimeters dilated.  He measured my fundal height and then looked at the ultrasound results.

“Okay, baby is big.  Let’s see what we can do.” he told me.

He called the maternity floor and asked what his schedule was like for tomorrow, as he is on call, but he already had a scheduled cesarean and a scheduled induction.  Dr. F said it would not be fair to bring me in if he couldn’t promise his undivided attention.

“I really want to be the one to deliver your baby, but I am not comfortable with leaving you several times to attend to other patients.  That is not my style of practice.” he said.

This is what I love about my doctor.  He is honest.  He is kind.  No fluff.  No sugar coating.  And he listens.  He truly cares about his patients, and if I could pronounce his first name (which is Tzvetan) I would totally name my son after him.

My other doctor (I have two because of my high risk history) happens to be on call on Friday, and Dr. F scheduled my induction for Friday morning at 7 a.m.

“Now, if my two deliveries go down without a hitch tomorrow, I will call you and you come in to be induced.  I can’t promise, but I will try.  Otherwise, you will be in on Friday.  I will check up on you Saturday afternoon.” Dr. F explained.

He paged the nurse to complete the paper work and gave me a hug.  I didn’t want to let go of the man.  Which sounds a little nuts, I know, but this doctor has been so good to me over the last year and half.  I can’t even describe the level of professionalism and kindness he has shown me.  He is, and has been, the most amazing doctor a woman could ever ask for.  I thanked him, with tears in my eyes, for all that he has done for me.

“Oh,” he said. “Be careful.  You don’t want to see your doctor cry.  Good luck, and I see you very soon.”

After he left the room, I got dressed and waited for the nurse to bring in the paperwork.  I thought about the my first appointment with Dr. F and how depressed I was with my PCOS and my failure to conceive and how I was starting to think I was crazy, because other doctors told me I was fine and that weight loss would solve all my problems.

“You are not crazy,” Dr. F had told me.  “This is a real disease and weight loss alone is not enough.”

He listened to me.  He encouraged me.  He cheered me on in my efforts to lose weight.  With every pound lost, he gave me a high five, and sometimes a friendly hug.

He prescribed the right medicines to help my body overcome the obstacles that PCOS had thrown at me.  And eight months after my first appointment, I was pregnant. Without Dr. Fatchikov, I don’t think it would have happened.  He gave me hope.

Maybe it’s hormones that are making me so emotional, but I feel very lucky to have such a wonderful doctor.  Thank you, Dr. F.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.

So.  Friday is the big day.  I’m anxious.  Nervous.  Excited.  And ready.  So very ready.

Okay, and I’m tired. I spent today cleaning (more cleaning, you ask? yes, because I’ve gone completely anal about organization in this house. that and I have nothing else to do while I wait for the baby to make his way into the world) my dining room, my craft area, and other things. Then Doug and I went to lunch at Tempura House.  They have the best buffet.  I love the sweet & sour chicken, General Tso’s chicken, and of course crab rangoon. Yum.

Dawson spent the night at my parents’ house so we could go to that wedding last night, and Doug and I really enjoyed our day together, even if we were just getting all those last minute things completed.  I vacuumed all the carpets.  Doug blew out the sprinklers for the winter.  I folded laundry. He blanched and froze more vegetables from our garden.

The only thing we didn’t finish was weather-proofing our windows with that shrink wrap, plastic stuff.  But there’s always tomorrow.  As long as a certain baby stays in my uterus.  Which is probably going to happen.  He’s showing no interest in being born just yet.  I’m still in physical pain, but cleaning distracts me.

Okay, enough of the random babbling.  I give you my favorite photos of the last few weeks (months?):

My neighbor’s daughter, Katie, with her brothers at her wedding reception last night.  These kids (who aren’t really kids anymore) are triplets.  I’ve known their family since I was a kid.  I can’t believe how grown up they are now.

The beautiful bride and handsome groom pose for a photo.  They are just adorable, aren’t they?

Last Monday, Dawson and I went on a Mom & Son date.  We had dinner at Rocky Roccoco’s and then went to see the Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen movie that was re-playing at our local theater.  We had a fantastic time.

We had some funky things happen to a few of the tomatoes we grew this year.  This one seems to have grown a nose.  Or… Nevermind. I’m not even going to say it.  Still the funniest produce ever.

I tried to get a picture of all the kids at Dawson’s birthday party two weeks ago, and this one is almost perfect.  Only one child is looking away, and one is missing from the photo because he was having a meltdown.  Still a fantastic party.  Everyone had a fantastic time.

Dawson had such fun bowling.  Here he is, just after granny-bowling the ball down the lane.

Now that I’ve uploaded all the photos (from both cameras) from the last few weeks, I’ve charged all the batteries and put everything into my hospital bag.  I’m ready for Baby O to arrive.  Counting down days!

I could hear him talking to the patient in the room next door.  At first I was annoyed because I was tired and sitting half-naked on the exam table with a paper sheet covering my nether regions.  But then I heard the words “ovarian cancer” and “thought I should have a pap” and realized whomever was being seen next door probably needed my fabulous doctor’s attention more than I did at that moment.

When my doctor finally came into the room, I was practically nodding off.

“How are we doing?” he asked.

“Oh, you know. I’m just exhausted now.  I went through the nesting stage and now I’m just too tired to do anything else.  I want this baby out.” I told him.

Dr. F commended me for my blood pressure, my reading was 128/78.  He said I must have been resting well since Friday’s hospital stay, and I nodded.

Next he checked my cervix.  I am now only 3 cm dilated and 60% effaced.  Dr. F did an external palpation and estimates that Monster Baby is between 8 and 8 1/2 pounds.  He ordered another ultrasound for this coming Wednesday to confirm the size, and my 39 week appointment will be afterward.  He says he could be off the mark by a pound either way, so the u/s will provide more accuracy.

The concern is that the longer I am pregnant, the bigger the baby will get, and if this little large one gets to 9+ pounds, I may have difficulty delivering naturally.  The risk of having a cesarean section is high due to the baby’s size.

Dr. F wants to schedule induction for next week if the baby does not arrive on his own before Wednesday’s appointment.  He did say that with this type of intervention (induction via pitocin) the risk of C-section increases, but he says trying to push a large baby out can be painful and can cause complications like shoulder dystocia and we want to avoid such things.

I agree with the idea of induction, simply because I have a horrible fear of surgeries, especially ones that require cutting open my abdomen.  When I had gall bladder surgery six years ago, I had a panic attack before they put me under.  I have this irrational fear about dying under the knife.  I know it’s crazy, but I can’t seem to get over it.

The last two days have been long.  I’m so tired.  I don’t sleep at night.  I nod off several times during the day.  I practically live in the bathroom.  And the thirst!  I’m always so thirsty.  I swear I drink more than 8 glasses each day, which explains the bathroom visits and waking up six times each night.

Walking has become unbelievably painful.  Worse than the round ligament pain I was experiencing a few weeks ago.  Now it seems like I’m walking with a bowling ball between my legs, and several times a day I have this feeling as though the baby is just going to fall out. Add some mild lower back pain and menstrual-like cramps to the mix and I am one crabby, hugely pregnant woman.

Tomorrow Dawson has soccer in the morning, and then he’s going to Grandma and Grandpa’s house for the weekend.  Doug and I have a wedding to attend and I’m looking forward to one last night out before my life changes forever.  Unless a baby happens to arrive, I plan on enjoying myself for a few hours.

I promise to keep you posted throughout the next five days.  You can also follow me on Twitter and Facebook if you’d like.  Stay tuned.  Baby should be here any day now.

It started with this intense desire to start organizing the bedroom that Dawson and his baby brother will share for awhile.  Doug took the doors off the closet and I went through every single item in that space.  The urge to purge hit me like a ton of bricks.

Three large boxes of stuff were sealed up and are now ready for donation to the Easter Seals.  I got rid of toys no one has played with in years.  Clothes that Dawson cannot wear and the baby wouldn’t be able to wear for years were packed for others to use.  Anything that had not been worn or used in a year or more was tossed into the boxes as well.  I realized that Dawson had a lot of clothes when he was born, more than the new baby could ever wear.  Gone it is.

It took a few hours to figure out the correct floor plan for the room.  The furniture was arranged with efficiency in mind.  I delegated while Doug moved things around several times.  It’s very functional now.  I should have taken before and after photos.

Next, we took a trip to Target and bought one of these awesome toy organizers:

All of the most played-with toys were sorted into these 12 magic bins.  Because I had sorted through everything first, we ended up with two smaller bins being empty.

After the kids’ room was complete I crashed into bed and slept like a rock.  It was a long, rough day.

Sunday morning we went to church and after we got home Doug made a delicious breakfast of eggs, bacon, hashbrowns and toast.  It was delicious.  I decided to tackle our closet after that, and 5 more boxes of clothes, shoes, purses and other miscellaneous items were donated.

I finally got rid of all those clothes that had sentimental value or emotional feelings attached them.  I haven’t worn them in more than five years.  Someone else can use them.  It was tough to let go of some of those things, but I noticed that an uncluttered house has also cleared my psyche.

Doug did all the grunt work and heavy lifting, and I’m so grateful for his help.  After tackling closets we cleaned out the pantry together, as well as the linen and coat closets, too.  My house is almost perfect.

Shortly after we finished our work, my mother-in-law called to say that my father-in-law was having health issues.  He has been feeling disoriented, experiencing hallucinations and memory loss, as well as sleeping a lot and not wanting to get out of bed.  I’m not sure what the medical condition is, but it reminds me of dementia.  My grandfather suffered from the disease.  I also wonder if my FIL was experiencing a mini-stroke.

We went to Doug’s parents’ house to help get my FIL to the hospital, but later decided an ambulance was a better choice.  Doug’s dad was taken to the ER and later admitted to the hospital for observation.  We got home a few hours later.  Doug’s brother and uncle stayed to help my MIL.  Doug wanted to stay longer, but he had to work very early this morning, and his mom said not to miss work until they know exactly what my FIL’s condition is.  We’re praying that he recovers from whatever it is that is ailing him.

After we got home last night, we all crashed into bed.  Another long day under our belts.

I’m hoping today is uneventful, and that no one else is admitted to the ER.  They say bad things happen in threes.  Here’s hoping that’s just an old wives tale, or a myth.

Later this afternoon I’m taking Dawson to see a free matinee showing of Transformers 2.  The theater is offering this show for customer appreciation week, and my little guy cannot wait for the DVD to come out on October 20th.  It’s our last mommy/son “date” before little Baby O arrives.  I plan to treasure every second of it.

The last time I had a flu shot was five years ago, and after it was done I felt so sick, as if I had contracted the flu immediately.  And the injection itself hurt terribly.  I vowed never to have that vaccination again.

I don’t know why I changed my mind this time (and my mother now believes my baby is going to be born autistic, based on all the articles she’s read about the links and risks and THANKS MOM for making me even more nervous about this subject), but now I wish I’d have said no to the shot.

Right after I got home from the appointment I felt fatigued and took a 3 hour nap.  Exactly 24 hours after the injection was given, I was experiencing upper abdominal pain, shortness of breath, rapid heartbeat and elevated blood pressure.  I thought I was having an episode similar to when I had pre-eclampsia with my first pregnancy.

I felt winded as I walked from living room to kitchen.  I had to sit down and my heart was racing.  The sudden onset of these symptoms made me panic.  Pre-eclampsia usually does not “happen” so quickly, but over the course of several weeks instead.

I called Doug at work first.  He was in a meeting.  I waited half an hour and then called my doctor’s office.  The on-call doctor told me to head to the emergency room right away, just to have the pain checked out.  I interrupted Doug from his meeting and he rushed home to drive me to the hospital.

Once there, the nurses and doctors sent me to the OB/GYN area and started asking millions of questions.  I answered accordingly, blood was drawn, a urine sample was collected, and over the course of three hours we waited for results.

The ER doctor came back and said my protein levels were fine, blood work is good, no liver problems, and after he consulted with the OB/GYN on call upstairs in the maternity ward, I would be free to go home.

Except, I wasn’t.  Dr. J was on call and she wanted to keep me overnight at the hospital for observation, simply because my blood pressure was still higher than she liked.  I tried to reason with her, to tell her it was probably panic or anxiety, but she insisted that monitoring be done and I was too tired (and hungry!) to argue.

While I was getting situated in room 307, my nurse was getting all the monitors ready.  Suddenly, another nurse came in and yelled, “308 needs pain meds, NOW!”  Off my nurse went.  I soon discovered why she ran out in a hurry.

Thirty minutes later, I witnessed the screaming of the woman who was delivering her baby in the room next door.  She was in a lot of pain, that’s all I can gather.  I had to turn the television on with the volume a little bit higher than normal just to try to drown out the painful screams.  At one point I heard her scream, “Get it out!  GET IT OUT! PLEASE GET IT OUT!”  I seriously thought I was going to faint, and I wasn’t the one in labor.

Doug was still at the hospital with me when this was happening, and he told me, “I don’t ever remember you screaming like that.  You looked so calm.”

“Probably because I had an epidural,” I told him. “I was too drugged up to scream.”

After several hours of monitoring and blood pressure checks, my pressures came down, especially when laying on my left side.  I didn’t get much sleep while there, however, and I’m so glad to be home this morning.

Another 24-hour urine collection has been ordered, and results will be received later this evening after I drop off the jug of pee.  Ugh.  I hate these collections.  Such a gross thing to carry around.

The doctor still isn’t certain why I was having such a hard time last night, but thank God it’s over and I can rest at home.  Dorothy was right when she said there’s no place like it.

My other doctor (I’ve got two because of my history with high risk pregnancies), Dr. B, wanted to induce labor at 38 weeks (NEXT WEEK!) but Dr. F has said he prefers to wait until 39 weeks because ultrasounds can be off as much as 8 ounces to one pound (either way) and induction can put me at risk for other medical complications and interventions.

My fundal height (from pubic bone to the top of my uterus) is measuring 44 cm, which is a large measurement for only 37 weeks gestation, so the odds are in favor of this baby being on the larger side.  However, I’m not a petite gal and part of that measurement needs to allow for my “extra padding” (a polite way of putting it, I suppose).

After the appointment I was thinking about this pregnancy.  While there have been some rough moments, it hasn’t been as horrible as I thought it would be, nor as bad as other doctors and nurses predicted.  Still no real symptoms of pre-eclampsia, which makes me very happy, but the risk of sudden onset in these last few weeks is still high.  I’m doing my best to drink lots of water, to keep taking my blood pressure pill (I forgot one day last week) and to rest as much as possible.

The rest part of pregnancy is the hardest for me to accomplish.  I no longer sleep at night due to the tossing, turning, getting up to pee, getting up for a drink of water and constant poking and prodding by the little person living inside of me.

My husband and other family members are taking bets as to when I’ll deliver.  One friend thinks I’m going to give birth during the Monday night, Packers vs. Vikings, football game.  My Packers face-off with Brett Favre and the Vikings.  This is a huge game.  I hope I don’t spend my time laboring and watching from a hospital delivery room.

Another friend believes I’ll deliver on my wedding anniversary on October 13th.  I really don’t want to share that day with a baby’s birth, so I’ll just cross my legs that day.

Doug thinks the baby will arrive at the end of next week, causing us to miss our neighbor’s daughter’s wedding that we RSVP’d to over a month ago.  That would be just like our luck; to make plans and have God decide that this baby will be born then.  If this happens, I will laugh.  Laugh hysterically.  I find it funny.

Speaking of funny, when Dr. F checked my reflexes today, I could not stop giggling.  He used the side of his palm instead of that reflex instrument.  When he checked the left leg first, it looked like he was karate-chopping my knee and I broke into a fit of giggles.  I have no idea why.  My doctor was laughing, too, and it was just hysterical.

“Vhat is so funny?” he said in his Ukranian accent.

“I have no idea,” I said.  “I just can’t stop laughing.”

“Ah…yes.  Pregnancy does funny things to vimmen.” he replied.

And the giggling continued.

I’m in good spirits today.  This is a good thing because just a few days ago I was a raging lunatic yelling at everyone in my path.  I’m blaming hormones.

Thank God I’m in a better mood.  Perhaps it’s because the end of this pregnancy and the birth of my beautiful baby is near!

Here’s hoping…

I expressed my discomfort, told her about the unbearable groin/pelvic pain and how I cry several times a day because I’m experiencing such feelings of malaise.

“Well, we don’t like to check the cervix before 37 weeks, because we don’t want to stir things up, but I’m willing to check if anything is happening down there.” she said.

I told her I trusted her judgment and that if she didn’t feel it necessary to do a pelvic exam then I’d be okay, but seriously, what can I do to ease the pain?

Dr. J said if the pain was that awful then she would just do the exam and try not to disrupt anything.  Turns out “the dimple” of my cervix is open, or 1 cm dilated but 0% effaced.  And I could stay this way for weeks.

The baby has definitely dropped lower into my pelvis, despite what the nurse told me last week, about second babies not dropping until labor begins, and the doctor thinks labor may start within the next ten days.

I asked how she could make a guess like that, after telling me I could be stuck at one centimeter forever, and she said my other symptoms (that I had told the nurse), nausea, moderate menstrual-like cramps, lower back pain and the frequent bowel movements are all very early signs that labor may begin soon.

I nearly fell off the exam table.  I’m ready for this baby, but I’m not ready, you know?

We did a non-stress test and before I left, my weight and blood pressure were recorded.  I’ve lost two pounds since Tuesday (my last appointment).

“Another sign that labor could happen very soon.” Dr. J told me.

My blood pressure was slightly elevated but “nothing to panic about” and another 24-hour urine collection was ordered.  After having my blood drawn in the labs and collecting the urine jugs, I was on my way home.

I called Doug at work to tell him of the doctor’s predictions and he was a wreck.

“I’m not ready,” he said. “Are you?”

I told him whatever happens, happens.  I can’t worry about it.  Today is Dawson’s birthday party (right after soccer!).  As long as labor does not begin today, I’m okay.

I am a little nervous about labor happening earlier than I expected.  The baby’s room is not ready.  However, Doug finally put the glider and ottoman together.  When I cam home from a craft party Thursday night, he had the house somewhat clean, and the chair assembled.  Someone must have tipped him off that I was not happy with his lack of help.

So.  That’s where we’re at.  We’ll see what happens.

The house must be clean!  CLEAN, I say!  The littlest things will bother me.  Like socks on the floor (I’m looking at you, Doug and Dawson).  Or toys.  ALL. OVER. THE HOUSE.  And the clutter.  Magazines, school papers and half-opened mail are piling up on my kitchen table.  I have six million tomatoes on my kitchen counter. And I cannot deal with it. Not any of it.

Add to this mix of chaos and insanity the fact that I’ve been trying to clean out the pantry for two weeks, but I cannot get to it because those other things (see above) are nagging at me.  So I take time out of my day to deal with that and then have no energy whatsoever to do anything else.

I started sorting baby clothes a few days ago, and then I was sidetracked by vacuuming the living room, because in my mind people could show up unexpectedly, and why would I want them to see that a child actually lives here?  One with too many toys?

Poor, poor husband.  I’ve been a raging ball of hormones and have yelled at him repeatedly for not helping me enough.  Several times each day he tried to escape my wrath by heading to the garden and harvesting tomatoes that I swear he already picked.  The very same tomatoes on the counter.  I really think he takes some away at night and brings them back in the house the next day.  You know, so that it looks like he’s doing something.

Also, I think he’s shoved cotton balls in his ears because I have to REPEAT MYSELF CONSTANTLY.

I asked him five times to take the broken bread machine to the garage to be thrown away.  After it sat on the dining room floor, next to the deck door, for TWELVE days, I finally took it out to the garage myself.  An F-bomb was said and the neighbor across the street heard me.  She no longer waves at me when we pass each other on the road.  Apparently, I am now the closest thing to the devil himself.  At least to her.  Okay, and my husband. Whatever.

Doug was all, “Geez, Louise!  Settle down!  What is wrong with you?  And F-word?  Over a bread maker?”

And I lost my mind.  I began crying and shaking and raving like a freakin’ idiot.   I was sputtering, “You don’t understand!  YOU JUST DON’T GET IT!”

We didn’t speak the rest of the night.  The next day things were fine.  That is until he buried the chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream behind a bunch of other crap in the freezer.  The yelling ensued.  More tears were shed.  I promptly sent myself to bed.  I didn’t want the damn ice cream anyway.  What I really wanted was a big fat margarita in a glass the size of my head.  With lots of Tequila.  But alas, the things we give up to bring a beautiful, chubby baby into the world.

Speaking of babies, I don’t think we’ll be having any more children after my outbursts.  What man wants to have sex with a stark raving lunatic?

In my defense, I just can’t help it.  It seems like I have no control over anything anymore. Especially my hormones.

Also, I’m the the only one who does anything around here.  The huz tries to help, but things go unfinished because he thinks he has other, more important priorities (like painting the garage door and trim, and installing a new garage door opener, because he thinks winter is arriving tomorrow).  Then I become infuriated and the stupidest things set me off.  I can’t do it all.  I physically cannot do everything.

Poor Dawson thinks his mother has turned into the chupacabra from his Scooby Doo DVD.

I probably have turned into a monster.

My days are chaotic.  This is my typical daily routine:

• Wake up early (most of the time)
• Work for 2 hours
• Check e-mail
• Wake Dawson
• Get Dawson dressed
• Let Murphy out to pee
• Feed the dog
• Make breakfast for Dawson
• Make sure Dawson brushes his teeth
• Check Dawson’s backpack and folder to be sure all forms and things are signed and sent back
• Get Dawson on the school bus
• Work 3 more hours
• Check e-mail
• Wait for the bus to drop off Dawson
• Make lunch for Dawson (oh yeah, and for me!)
• Let the dog out to pee, again.
• Put on Spongebob to occupy Dawson
• Finish working
• Straighten the living room, dust and vacuum
• Wash dishes
• Check on the laundry and try to put it all away
• Check Dawson’s backpack and folder for new notes and/or forms
• Pay bills that may be due
• Check e-mail
• Pick-up stray toys around the house, or command Dawson to do it
• Take Dawson outside to play
• Return books to the library and check out new ones
• Try to read a book that does not have colorful illustrations and rhyming words
• Sort toys and set aside two boxes for Goodwill
• Clean out the storage closet and donate more items to Goodwill
• Fold more laundry but forget to put it away
• Read books to Dawson
• Ask Doug seven times to load the boxes in the car so I can drop them off at Goodwill the next day
• Ask Doug to make dinner while I take a nap
• Fall asleep watching television (most likely Dancing with the Stars)
• Yell at someone for something because my hormones are out of whack

Oh, and did I mention the 349 times I have to stop what I am doing at any given time to pee or wipe a certain 5-year-old’s butt.  And let’s not forget the occasional adjustment to the schedule for conference calls or MOPS and MOMS Club meetings, or Church Activities.  And Saturday Soccer.  Or going to the bank, post office and grocery store every Friday.  And the fact that my husband is most often working (or hiding in the GARDEN) while I’m trying to manage this damn household.

And you people wonder why I’m crazy?

To my husband and son I say:  Y’all better hope I don’t die in childbirth, because it appears you CANNOT FUNCTION WITHOUT ME.