Women don't go into labor until they give up hope that the baby will ever come out.
Last night, as I was laying on the couch attempting to escape reality by
It was eerily similar to the thought I had with Princess when I was three days overdue and with Frodo when I crossed the five day mark: This baby is never coming out. I may as well get used to being the size of a water buffalo. I will never again recognize my feet. That is all. Time to get on with life.
With both of them, I was in labor within 12 hours.
I am under no delusion to believe that giving up equals a phone call, or labor for that matter. I truly don't even expect one. This morning was the first in three weeks where I didn't even glance at the clock and count down the minutes until 9 AM (my phantom, if I haven't been called I won't be called cut off time period). I really, really, really might not get a call until February. It is completely out of my hands. I need to give up on the plan to buy all my Christmas gifts in Ethiopia and just start figuring out what piece of plastic crap won't drive me crazy OR into the poor house. I'm going to shop for my Operation Christmas Child boxes because the odds are, I won't be delivering my own version of it to the orphans in our care center.That is all. It's time to get off the I'm Holding My Breath Until I Turn Blue wagon and get on with life.
Laundry is calling. A holiday season is bearing down. Charming wants me to watch him play. And, besides, I like oxygen. I might as well inhale now and again.
It is a new day. I'm gonna seize it.