Venting

I would like to finish this race well - with grace and a sense of humor - but I feel like I might as well be wishing for a bikini body and a million bucks. I'm tired and grumpy and feeling a little rejected by Remy's apparent determination not to be born. I stroke my belly and tell him that he will like it out here, with the cats and the sunshine and his funny daddy, but I don't think he is convinced.

I am also pissed at my body for constantly getting my hopes up with, of all things, pain, only to have the pains disappear once I have cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom, packed and repacked my hospital bag and thrown fresh litter in the litter box.

I'm also starting to get nervous about labor. Not enough to keep me up at night (I have other issues that do that!) but enough to make me seriously question my birth plan.

Piper, on the other hand, is loving this stage. She stays close to me all day long, and has even started sleeping in our bed again at night. She licks my hands and fingers with sloppy wet kisses and if my hands aren't immediately available she starts licking the laptop I am sitting at. She purrs A LOT and gazes at me lovingly, which is disconcerting coming from someone whose look is usually one of superiority or accusation.

I have things that I meant to do to keep me busy, like drive to the mall or swim in the pool, but my energy just isn't there. (Plus, I can't reach the pedals in the Yukon without having my belly pressed against the steering wheel and it doesn't seem like a very safe way to drive!) So I take naps and baths, check fb endlessly, snack until I feel disgusted with myself, and listen to bad eighties music on the radio.

Saturday I will be 39 weeks. So technically it is really no biggy that I haven't gone into labor yet. But if I don't have the baby next week I fear I will turn into a complete basket case!