My 24-hour diagnosis

belly clockMy doctor gave me 24 hours at my weekly checkup yesterday. No, not to live, although I guess it depends on which way you look at it, but until I was to go into labour.

Closing in at 39 weeks, I guess I wasn’t all that surprised. Mostly I was wondering how many more naps I could get in and how many more Smarties I could eat before I had to head to the hospital.

When I got home and shared the diagnosis with my husband Shawn, he immediately started his countdown clock and launched into handyman mode.

Here’s how it went:

12 p.m. The 24-hour diagnosis.

1 – 3 p.m. Grandma comes for a visit. My 19-month-old Layla bounces from toy to toy, showing off what a big girl she has become as the power washer blasts away in the background. My feet sweat. Maybe because I’m nervous that at any second that sweat will be accompanied by severe pain, or maybe I’ve just eaten way too many Smarties over the course of nine months and the extra 25 lbs are finally getting to me.

3 – 5 p.m. Naptime

5 – 10 p.m. A blur of playground time, dinner, walking Hendrix, and Shawn repeatedly asking me how I feel. After Layla heads to bed, we retire to the couch to watch Vikings, Shawn with a beer and myself with some Smarties. A few slight pains and cramps convince me that it’s the start of labour and I secretly wish it would go away. It does.

2 a.m. Awakened suddenly out of a dead sleep. Not labour, just a toddler screaming like a banshee. A few cuddles and back to bed. Thankful I’m not going into labour.

3 a.m. More crying. Diaper change. Cramp. Oh no, please don’t start now.

3:30 a.m. More crying. Bottle. Toddler upgrades to parent’s bed. No labour. Fingers and legs crossed.

6:45 a.m. Wake up. Seasame Street. I’ve survived the night with my fear of early morning labour passed.

7 – 12 p.m. Shawn: “anything yet?” Me: “nope.”

It is now 8 p.m. and here I sit on the couch still waiting and dreading the possibility of going into labour during the middle of the night. It’s not the labour I dread (although it will suck), but doing it in mombie mode with only a few hours of sleep under my belt. I am also having visions of being 10 days late again. It’s the not knowing that’s driving me crazy.

As for my husband? He’s watering the lawn.

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