No, I'm not in labor

Just thought I should post so you'd all know there has been no labor action as of yet. Everybody is on high watch, which means every time I call my mom, she responds with, "ARE YOU IN LABOR?" instead "Hello", and every time I make a pained face due to a random contraction, my husband looks like he might throw up. And then, there is the dreaded, "HAVEN'T YOU HAD THAT BABY YET?".

I actually started having some pretty good contractions at around seven last night, and they kept me awake until about one in the morning. Seth said I had them most of the night, as I would moan in my sleep every time one started and ended.

I go to the doctor in the morning for my first "exam", so there had better be some dilating going on in there. I'll keep you all posted.

The nesting fit is over, for the most part, if you don't count that I meticulously Clorox-wiped the washer and dryer on Saturday.

I'm just getting restless now - my anxiousness about labor, delivery, post-partum depression, leaking breasts, and being the mother of three small kids is taking me over, mind and body(Wasn't I just a cheerleader a few minutes ago? Wasn't I just downing a six pack of Rolling Rock on my 21st birthday? Didn't I just get a college degree and a paying job not long ago? WHEN DID I BECOME A MOTHER OF THREE??????).

I can't seem to find much that is worth my effort lately. Scrapbooking? Don't feel like walking down the stairs to get to the scrap stuff. Baking? You would NOT want to order a cake from me right now. Shopping? Only if you'll push me around the store in a wheel chair.

I WANT to play with the kids, take them to the park, hang out at the library. I WANT to visit friends, catch a movie, cuddle with my husband (who I'm sure is dying for a little more than cuddling). I just CAN'T. The guilt is eating me up. My kids will remember this as the summer that I totally ignored them. Shame on me.

I'm just rambling out thoughts now, so feel free to skim to the end and hope for better tomorrow.

A lot of uncomfortable feelings are surfacing lately, which I'm sure means impending labor.

First, the physical - it usually feels like baby is trying to dig her way out. Seven pounds of very active baby attempting to cross her legs and turn over inside me is very uncomfortable. Can't sleep, raging heartburn at bedtime, swollen ankles, back pain, tight maternity tops that weren't tight last week, the bathroom visits every 15 minutes, and more horrifying tales that I am not willing to share on the internet.

In short, three babies? Have finished off what remained of my body. But I still have all my teeth, thank God.

I don't want to be pregnant anymore. I want to be pregnant forever and ever. Go figure.

I am afraid of post partum depression. I've been there, twice, and don't want to do it again.

What if there is something wrong with the baby?

I'm terrified of labor and delivery. I am planning on no drugs, just as I did with Laura. Just because I did it once, does it really mean I can do it again?

My children will hate me for ruining their perfect little lives with a screaming new baby who is attached to me all day long.

What if labor really does kill me?

I will lose my mind trying to stay home with three little kids.

We are going to go broke.

No more "me" time. And I'm verrrry selfish, by the way.

I'm missing BlogHer this year. :(

Only a few weeks (days????) of unlimited frozen coffee drinks and eating whatever the baby dictates (sometimes it's doughnuts, and sometimes it's bananas, okay?). Then, the weight must go. And that depresses me. Back to Fat Friday posts.

No one will babysit three children at once.

No time for sex, ever again. And, my husband will leave me after he sees how this last (WAAAAHHHH *sniffle*) baby has ruined my body.

I'm scared, about everything in general. I need to cry. Make me feel better.

Preparing the nest.

I only deep clean the house twice a year...once in April (Laura's birthday) and once in September (Garrett). And that involves everything from dusting to windexing the windows and doors to wiping down the baseboards (at least the really dusty ones).

My NORMAL cleaning schedule is more like run the dishwasher before we're out of spoons, keep the laundry going when the underwear starts to run out, and sweep when we can't walk through the crumbs any longer. You are disgusted by me now, aren't you?

So, needless to say, the "nesting" phenomenon of late pregnancy is bewildering to me. I, a woman who can barely see the TV screen for the streaks of dust, cannot stop cleaning. And organizing, of course.

When I was teaching, my nesting took place in my classroom. Eight weeks of reading logs paper-clipped in order? Check. Eight weeks of math activities, lined up in order on a shelf? Check. Detailed notes about what to expect from all 23 students at any given moment of the day? Check!

My house was an entirely different matter. The one bit of nesting I remember doing at HOME was when I was pregnant with Garrett. After staying at school until 11:00 preparing information for my substitute, I came home, cleaned the bathroom, and went into labor pretty much after I'd put the Windex away.

This time, it's a whole new world to me. It started about two weeks ago.

"I've got to run to Walmart for milk and stuff...should be under $50 bucks!" I yell to my husband.

I come home with a $140 bill, and purchases including new travel size toiletries for the hospital, a new nightgown, robe, and slippers, a pack of diapers, gifts for Garrett and Laura's "hospital" bag (so they will know I still love them, of course), Tucks pads, baby Tylenol, and a sleeper for the baby. And milk. I did get the milk.

Then there was the Glamour Shots debacle. $400 dollars later. MUST HAVE BELLY PICTURES.

Then, came the packing. I CANNOT GO INTO LABOR WITHOUT MY BAGS PACKED. Actually, four bags - one for labor, one for the hospital stay, a bag for Garrett, and a bag for Laura. All with notes taped on so my husband will know what to throw in at the big moment. It is imperative that he get the BROWN hairbrush, and the comfy pink underwear. My labor depends on it.

OMG, WAIT - is my crazy showing?

Next, there was the organizing. Kids closets? Impeccable. Kitchen cabinets? The soup cans are all facing out. Baby clothes, blankets, shoes, supplies? Ready, ready, READY!

Then the crafts. I have scrapbooked a blank page on which to put baby's first photos from the hospital. I have refinished a picture frame to match the other children's "bathtub" photos that hang in our bathroom. I have made a little book to document Delaney's first year (I take a picture of the kids with their teddy bear once a month until they turn one).

And now, I am cleaning. People, it's almost shameful to admit this, but I was up until midnight last night cleaning every last corner of this house, including VACUUMING THE RETURN AIR VENTS WITH THE HOSE ATTACHMENT. And then I cleaned the vacuum. Okay, I'm kidding about that last part, but now that it's been mentioned...

I'm also doing out of character things like HAVING A HOT DINNER ON THE TABLE EVERY NIGHT FOR FIVE NIGHTS IN A ROW, and I MADE HOMEMADE WAFFLES FOR BREAKFAST THIS MORNING. Wild.

In the last week, Seth and I have also managed to teach Garrett to take showers, and wash all by himself. We have Laura washing her hair and body, we just have to help her rinse. Both children are now in booster seats and they have learned to buckle their own seatbelts. And although this is very embarrassing, Garrett fixed his own lunch yesterday because I was really consumed with scrubbing the back of the kitchen faucet with Ajax and a toothbrush.

So, the closets are ready.

The nursery is ready.

The kids are as independent as they can be at this point.

The house is ready.

I, however am NOT ready to care for a new baby.

But, I AM ready to meet my newest baby daughter.

Daddy is ready to hold her tiny little fingers.

And Garrett and Laura are ready, too.