Contractions.

Now entering Day 10 of The Long String Of Having Some Contractions Every Day.

Yeah, every day, for a few hours.  It’s not too bad, except that they tend to tire me out.  One thing that’s probably good about this:  ten days ago, when I had a series of contractions in a row, I was thinking, Oh nooooooo, I am not ready for this yet.  By now I’m thinking, Please please please let this be the start of labor.  Let’s go.

Third time through, and everything feels different.  When I was waiting for Milo to be born, I kept wandering around the duplex, thinking, I need to fix a rope or something to the doorjamb or the ceiling, so I have something to grab onto and hang from when I’m in labor.  I never got around to it, but interestingly enough, I did deliver Milo while "hanging" (albeit standing, supported by hanging from my arms over the shoulders of two other people).  Last night, downstairs in the kids’ playroom, I noticed the "swinging rings" dangling from the ceiling joists.  I reached out and took hold of them; I leaned back; I bent my knees and sank down until my weight stretched into my arms, wrists, hands.  I paused for a moment, experimenting.

Ow.  Ow.  Ow.  My elbows were coming apart.  I let go.

I’m a planner by nature.  I like to have a calendar on the wall with big squares to write everything down.  Weekly meal planning?  I have a stack of preprinted blanks in the kitchen drawer.  I like to know every morning what I’m doing that day.  Um.  Can’t really do that now.