In my mind, the conversation goes like this:
Me: Get out, please.
Baby: Swimming, swimming in the swimming pool.
Me: Get out.
Baby: When days are hot, when days are cool, in the swimming pool!
Me: GET OUT.
Baby: Breast stroke, side stroke, a fancy dive or two, oh don't you wish that you could have nothing else to do?
Me: For the love of God GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT.
(Please tell me other people remember that dippy song.)
I had an appointment with my midwife today. Baby is fine, etc. She stripped my membranes, which they didn't do with Clare, so we'll see if that does anything. She is confident that I will go into labor before next Wednesday. If I haven't, baby number 2 is scheduled to be forcibly evicted that day.
So we wait. I have not been sleeping well, and although I tell myself it is just good preparation for all of those upcoming night time feedings, it makes me very crabby. My patience with Clare (and everyone else) is very thin. I am trying not to take things out on her, but sometimes I just want her to go away. I feel bad about this. But not that bad. She is just lucky she is so cute. At my appointment today, she told the midwife (unprompted) that the baby is coming to live at our house, and will sleep in a crib. So maybe she understands what is happening? I am sure we will all have a bit of a shock when reality sets in, but I think we've done what we can to prepare Clare.
I just realized that while I've been so busy getting Clare ready, I have done nothing to prepare myself for labor and recovery. Yes, I've done it before, but maybe a review wouldn't hurt? Excuse me while I go Google labor breathing techniques. And take an inventory of my medicine cabinet. Do Tucks expire?