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Welcome to my little corner of the ether. This is where you will find information about my books and musings on life and love in New York City. To stay in the loop about all things ADR...

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This week? It's been a bit rough. Physically, I've felt yucky. Mentally, I've been off. Existentially, I've been a disaster.

On Monday, I was admitted to the hospital for an elective procedure to turn my baby. Yes, I know. That sounds weird. And it was weird. The short story is that the little baby in my belly has been a bit stubborn and was lying transverse (that's sideways for the laypeople among us) and as I am due in two weeks it is high time to be head down. So. I went in. And, bizarrely, the moment I checked into the hospital, I started having contractions. Frequent and strong contractions. They lasted all day.

First things first though. The procedure (called an external cephalic version for those who care) was a success! This was major as this was my one shot to avoid a C-section. (I having nothing against the idea of a C, but my first two deliveries were vaginal and I would prefer that the third to be as well.) So... I am thrilled. Beyond thrilled. And very much indebted to my rock star OB. But the contractions? They weren't as peachy. They had me weeping at points and contemplating morphine when offered. In the late hours of Monday, Husband and I (and the hospital nursing staff) were convinced I was on my way to having a February baby.

Not so.

The contractions, though mighty and miserable, were ineffective and I was told that I was experiencing false labor. Lovely. After a very long day, we went home. I scarfed Chinese food and watched the Bachelor. Not too shabby, I know.

But? I have been having contractions all week. I have been waking up in the middle of the night with them. It has been less than fun. I had a doctor's appointment yesterday morning and I half-expected to go in and get checked and have my lovely doctor smile and say, Today is the day! Get ye to the hospital!

Not so.

I came home again. And that's where I am now. Waiting. Riding out false pains that will one day turn true. Trying my hardest to be chipper and patient and failing miserably. I want so so badly to enjoy these final moments/days/weeks, but man is it hard when I don't feel at all like myself.

I know. I know. It's hardly a sob story. My baby is doing great and she will be here in no time. My family is about to expand and exquisitely. I am so close. I know.

But I wanted to be honest. With you. With me. This has been a rough one. I apologize that I haven't been as good about responding to your comments and visiting your blogs. Alas, I am not remotely on my game.

Wah.

But, in that good old grand scheme of things, all is good. Very good. Despite these maddening faux contractions. Despite this whine-fest.

Hey, my baby is head down. Now I just need to keep my head up, right?

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Thank you for allowing me to indulge in a little old school complaining. Sincere apologies if this post contains too much information for some of you.

Any of you have any experience with baby-turning-procedures or false labor stories or super-whiny-pregnant people? Any guesses on when this little girl will stop faking me out and actually arrive? Any tips for mending my threadbare patience?

So Many Hats. (Too Many Hats?)

Embrace Pain