The buzz is gone. It left when I went to bed, which gives support to Trena's theory that loopiness can be the baby cutting off the blood supply to the brain. It was fun while it lasted.
This morning I'm crampy, as I have been for a couple of days, fueling my constant "Labor?.......labor?.......labor?......" soundtrack. I'm also feeling less excited and more nervous. I've been so impatient for the c-section date, counting weeks and days and saying things like "This is the last day of the calendar week before the calendar week the baby will be born in! Yay!," and now there are two days left and I am feeling a little queasy.
Today I had my pre-op at the hospital, to which I had to drag three children. Lucky anesthesiologist, asking me important medical questions over the din of Edward naming everything he sees (and continuing to name it again and again until I repeat it back to him), and Elizabeth protesting the whole concept of the stroller. Meanwhile I was signing the paperwork, which says basically that I know I could die during the c-section, and that if that happens I totally understand. Sign here.
Tomorrow, then, will be my last day of being able to do anything. On Thursday I have to leave the house at 5:50 in the morning, so Thursday is not a day to be finishing up the laundry or baking a final batch of muffins. All there will be time for on Thursday is gathering up the last-minute things: my pillow, my journal, the book I'm reading; my face lotion and my brush. Main fret: that I will forget to set my alarm, or that it will not go off. For my last c-section, I set three alarm clocks and a kitchen timer.
The school nurse called and asked me to come get Rob, and I did. The school nurse wants me to have him tested for whooping cough. WHOOPING COUGH. Do you think it's okay if I choose not to freak out about this? I feel as if I am at full freak-out capacity, and can't add one more issue. Not only is whooping cough dangerous to small children and especially not-yet-vaccinated newborns, but if Rob has it he can't come to the hospital when the baby is born, and he is so excited to do that, and he would be so disappointed, and also, frankly, it would be a hassle to figure out what to do with him instead. So I am just going to pretend that all this can possibly be is a cold, and that I am taking him to the pediatrician this afternoon just to be a completely responsible person who pursues every possibility. Because I think that is in fact the case: I think he is very unlikely to have whooping cough, and that all the appointment will do is set my mind at ease. So I would like to set it at ease now, instead of spending the whole afternoon pacing and worrying. And I would like not to think about the school nurse, who, when we picked up Rob, asked if any of the other kids were coughing, and when I said no, but that Elizabeth had a runny nose, said soberly, "Yes, that's how it starts."
Gift ideas for an 8-year-old, part 1 of 2 - I have TWO 8-year-olds to buy for, so I’m going to split it up into two posts. Today will be the things we’re getting for Edward. I dislike saying “Gift id...