Come On, Kiddo!

I had a little mini adventure this weekend.

It all started late Saturday night on the potty, you see. . . Like most great adventures. ;)

I thought my water broke a little bit and I was super de-duper excited. "MY KID! My kid is coming earlier than his due date. This is sweeeet," I thought.

I alerted Chuck to remain calm, but to prepare himself. The time was nigh upon us.

I did find it peculiar that I wasn't having consistent and overly painful contractions, but after doing some slight digging on the trusty internet, I found that sometimes contractions take their time in starting after the water breaks. With Hannah, my water was broken by the nurse after I was already in the hospital, so I wasn't entirely sure what to expect this time.

We decided to just go to bed and wait for my contractions to start since I wasn't actively, um, leaking. {Don't you just love my TMI blog posts?! They're the greatest.}

Fast forward to the morning. Still no contractions worth sweating over. I began to worry that something wasn't quite right if my water really HAD broken, so we scooted on over to the hospital to get checked out. I figured that, hey, maybe I'd get lucky. Even though I knew I wasn't in active labor, I thought that maybe they'd be, like, "'Sup! You're 39 weeks and you're already here. Let's have this baby!"

Long story short, that didn't happen.

I was dilated to a 2 but my contractions {although fairly regular} weren't nearly manly enough to get the job done. So we skulked home with our heads hung in shame. Or at least I did.

After all these years of practice, I apparently still can't tell when I'm done using the bathroom.

Dang.

I'll have to work on that.

. . . .

So here I sit.

It's Monday evening and I've watched at least 6 "Curious George" episodes. Oh, and "Wreck It Ralph" and "Tangled". I've even watched a couple episodes of "Cake Boss" and started a flick starring Christopher Reeve in his glory days.

I have no make-up on and I've been cruising around in sweat pants all day.

I DID, however, sweep, vacuum, and bring in the trash cans. And eat. Don't forget that. I probably had a dozen peanut butter cookies today. So at least I was mildly productive.

I even had Hannah superman dive from the ottoman onto my unsuspecting belly while I was catching a cat-nap on the couch.

But still no labor.

I told Chuck that today was the longest day in the history of mankind. . . and then he was sweet enough to let me know he'll be working late for the next three days.

Son of a gun.

. . .

I don't even know, you guys. I'm dying and it's not even my due date yet! Hannah wasn't born until four days after her due date. . . if Curtis is of the same mind, I think I'll have to chow on some sedatives or somethin'.

Wish me luck this week. I'm a-gonna need it.