Eek.

I've been following Her Bad Mother because her second pregnancy experience has been frightfully similar to my own (except her firstborn is 4 years Bob's junior and not crazy--although I suppose most 2 year olds are pretty much the equivalent of a rage-a-holic bipolar 6 year old boy). Not only with the constant early nausea, but the third trimester false labor bullshit and the complete lack of interest in same by her medical professionals.

Well, she finally busted that kid out last week. And posted the story of same today.

I. Am. Scared.

Suffice to say she started having contractions one evening, followed by the same damned conversation Ben and I have had nightly for, oh, two weeks now:

Him: Is this it?
Her: Probably not.
Him: Are you sure?
Her: Stop asking me that. I'll tell you when it's time.
Her: (screaming in pain)
Him: Maybe we should go.
Her: No, not yet. (screams again)

This followed by her reluctant acquiescence to go to the hospital, followed by a car ride similar to something out of a Vin Diesel movie, followed by arriving at the hospital damn near looking #2 in the eye.

90 minutes, start to finish.



Intrigued though I am by the possibility of a 90 minute labor and delivery, the idea of doing it that quickly--sans pharmaceuticals--makes me feel a little faint. I'm a big fan of pharmaceuticals. Big, big fan.

So I'm going to hope for a prompt, efficient delivery. More UPS as opposed to her FedEx.

Assuming, that is, my OB office will agree to deliver Moosebaby at all due to my non-compliance. I skipped my appointments this morning in favor of placating Bosshole and taking an actual lunch break--which I have not done in quite some time, mind you--so that I could join Bob for lunch at school, as this is their last full day of the year. He's been begging me to come eat with him for a while now, and I've had to keep putting him off. Today I made the conscious decision to put him first, regardless of who didn't like it. Tough toenails for them.

"Will you bring me McDonald's?"

"No."

"Aw, man."

"Do you still want me to come, even without McDonald's?"

"Yes."

At least I know it's more about the company than the meal. And it was cheeseburger day, which was (although they obviously don't know what "salt" is in the school cafeteria) better than the frozen crap I've been eating. And the company was delightful.

Two more hours and twenty minutes until the official start of my maternity leave. I can't wait. I'm giddy over the prospect of not having to rush around in the morning after a night of bad sleep to come in and listen to Bosshole piss and moan about everything and load up my inbox with joy.

Which, of course, means Moosebaby will arrive tomorrow. 'Cuz that's just how we roll.