Thank God I'm not an elephant.

An elephant's gestation period is 22 months. Can you imagine? Surely I'd kill myself.

Yep - I'm still housing this fetus. You thought, perhaps, since I've been missing in action for nearly a week that I'd given birth? No. Not so lucky. We did have a false alarm that sent us to the labor and delivery ward just this past Monday, though - imagine my dismay when they declared me "not in active labor" and sent me on my pathetic little way. Bastards.

The baby is head down - for the first time! Could it be? Should I get my hopes up that I'll go into labor on my own AND she'll be in the correct position? I'm pretty sure God doesn't like me that much, so I'm not getting excited.

I've pretty much reached the end of my rope here, readers. Really. I'm exhausted. I haven't slept more than a few hours each night in weeks. I'm in pain. I'm already mourning the loss of my ability to give my undivided attention to baby boy. I'm terrified of the impending c-section. I learned yesterday that the precautions that were taken during my first c-section to prevent a blood clot (I have a clotting disorder, remember?) will not be taken this time. That leaves me a little nervous. I learned yesterday that I will have my outer incision closed with staples this time instead of sutures. That gives me the creeps. I learned yesterday that I won't be able to pick my baby boy up for 6 weeks after the surgery. He's going to feel emotionally abandoned. He's not going to understand. And how the hell, as a stay at home mom, am I supposed to get away with not picking him up? My husband will be home for a week following the surgery. My mom will be coming to stay for the week after that. Hubs wants to get "someone" to come in to help for the remaining 4 weeks, and by "someone" he's thinking a visiting nurse or somethingone along that line. Sorry, but no half-qualified foreign stranger will be coming into my home to dust my floors, let alone help with my son and baby daughter. He's telling me that we have to figure something out. No need - I'll go about my business, and if I happen to rip my incision, spilling the contents of my body all over my floor just because I need to pick my son up out of his crib - then so be it.

Unless I feel particularly inspired - don't count on it - to blog about something before next Wednesday, the day of the impending c-section of doom, this will likely be my last post as a mama to one. Updates can be expected once she's out. Stay tuned!