We are in the final countdown folks. I am considered full-term and can go into labor anytime from right.this.very.second. to 3 months (read: weeks) from now.
Naturally, everything is in a state of complete disarray here and nothing is anywhere near to where it should be. But this isn't another post about all the stuff left to do. You're all pretty aware that The Bean will be living in a dog crate set up in the middle of the room we're calling the nursery, but looks more like my grandmother's attic of treasures (read: crap).
Starting this week, the email bulletins I receive every day have taken on a different tone. Up until now these emails were full of "what your baby is doing today," "what stupid crap pregnant women are usually complaining about at this point" and "here's another superfluous, unnecessary item we're going to insist you own."
This week's emails were all about "RED ALERT: How to know you're about to go into labor."
That grabbed my attention.
I eagerly devoured these emails and discovered I am exhibiting approximately 546 of the 547 symptoms proven (read: in one person somewhere in time) to indicate labor is most assuredly (read: sort of, could be, might be, but probably isn't) imminent.
When you're in the homestretch of pregnancy you begin to grasp at the straws allowing you to believe that this will indeed end soon and sushi, Bloody Marys and turkey sandwiches will soon be back in your life.
So I convinced myself I was most definitely going to go into labor. Yesterday.
Upon coming to this conclusion, I ran into the shower to make myself (ahem) more presentable for labor. After an hour of shaving, trimming, bending in ways most unflattering, scrubbing and general soaping of everything, I emerged a new woman.
Because when one thinks they're about to go into labor, grooming should always be priority number 1.
Not putting together a bag of things to bring to the hospital. Not ordering crib bedding for the child to sleep on. Not vacuuming or cleaning the house covered in a fine film of dust and dog hair.
Nope. Grooming an area that will most assuredly be blown to smithereens and soon resemble a war zone. THAT is priority number 1.
[Editor's note: I am still sitting at home with zero indication that I will go into labor in the near future. I am, in fact, quite aware I have just ensured I won't go into labor until late August.]