It's the final countdown...

I'm sure you're all as sick of this pregnancy thing as I am, at this point. Good news! Only 4 weeks left (I hope).

Yesterday it would seem I forgot I was pregnant at all, and thought I could whip through Sam's Club really quickly. You know, grab one thing from every corner of the store. Just really quickly. Zoom, zoom. By the time I got to the checkout line (did I mention it was 5 p.m.?) to stand and wait for eternity, I was feeling it. The baby was going nuts with the kicking. I was getting some braxton-hicks. I had to just stand for a moment and hold on to my stomach. For a minute I thought, "Shoot, what if someone notices me and thinks I'm going into labor?" And then I thought, "Sweet! Maybe I'll be able to move ahead in line!" To no avail. I don't know if you're aware, but when we're waiting in line to check out anywhere, we are all completely oblivious of each other.

I get a little punchy in that last month (it's probably the whole 9 - but particularly in the last one). I hope it isn't just me. When I was pregnant with Natalie I was working with a couple college-age guys. We had three pregnancies at one time in our office. Our office of about 10 people. Those boys learned more than they wanted to learn. I admit, on more than one occasion I enjoyed stopping a conversation saying something like, "Hang on - contraction," and watching the clock. I knew I wasn't in labor. But it was good practice for timing contractions, right? And the panic on their faces was just precious...

So I'm kind of looking forward to my hospital tour later today. Maybe someone will think I'm in labor. Plus I'm hoping that knowing a little more what I can expect when I get there will CALM ME DOWN. I have never gone into labor on my own, and it petrifies me. PETRIFIES. I'm all about pulling out our datebooks and finding a good day for baby havin'. Thursdays or Fridays are nice. A little whiff of some pitocin, and off I go. Having my water break at Target? Not so high on that. Going into labor at 2 a.m. and rounding up childcare? No thank you. And then getting sent home with false labor? Not so much. Walking around my house deciding if I'm in labor? I'd rather not.

Here's to hoping I can sway the doctor to my way of thinking. I know - good luck to me.