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Mostly torn up over that missing nail polish, but also excited about not being pregnant anymore — er, I mean, seeing the baby April 27, 2010

Posted by Erin F. Wasinger in Being a mama.

I didn’t have to cry, and Dave didn’t have to either, and there was no $20 slyly given to my OB today. Nuh-uh, miracles happened on their own.

After literally sitting up in bed from 4 to 5:45 a.m. this morning, worried the doctor would show me some tough love and not even mention the word “induce,” an angel came and saved me. And saved Dave.

The doctor just walked in, asked me how I was doing and when I said “Meh, I feel very done, very uncomfortable,” she said “What can I do to help?”

“What can I do to help?” Unicorns, moonbeams and rainbows! And then lemon drops fell from the ceiling and Dave grew back 25 percent of his lost hair. The pope’s on his way over here to Oshkosh right now to check on the status of this series of miracles. “What can I do to help?” is the nicest phrase anyone could ever offer a very pregnant, very done-with-being-pregnant lady.

“Get this thing out of me,” I said, my hands going to my face in horror. THIS THING, this CREATURE is eating me ALIVE! THE HORROR!

“Well, we can’t induce until 39 weeks — which is tomorrow — so, how about tomorrow, or –”


“–unless you wanted to wait til later, or this weekend, even, I’m on call –”

“Tomorrow’s good. That’s great.”

And so now I’m waiting on the dryer so I can pack my suitcase. I’m searching the entire house for the one nail polish I can’t find. I’m washing bottles again and Alice is freaking out because she wants her monkey to sit in the baby’s car seat, and Dave’s bouncing around trying to wrap up all the loose ends he’s had frazzling since January. He took me literally when I said this baby would never come. Silly Dave. You’d think by now he’d know pregnant ladies always speak in hyperbole.



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