I always hate the phone–I have serious phone-avoidance issues, even on my best days. But lately? I. Hate. The phone.

I just paid our cell phone bill for the past month: almost $50 in overage charges. I guarantee that all 100 of those extra minutes consisted of this conversation:

(me): Hi.

(friend/family member): Are you having the baby?????

(me) No.

(f/fm, disappointedly): Oh. How do you feel?

(me): miserable.*

(f/fm, even more disappointedly): Oh.

I absolutely love that my family and friends are so happy for us about H., and that so many people are excited for him to show up. Really. I love that. But seriously? Right now, no one wants H here more than I do, and while I understand my loved ones’ impatience and excitement, I have spent way too many really expensive minutes reassuring them that H will, in fact, show up eventually, and no, i have no idea when that will be.*

(Which I actually don’t believe, anymore. I think he’s taken up permanent residence. I realized this morning that I no longer believe that he’s actually coming out, and that I will just have this giant head in my pelvis forever.)


*I woke up last night to pee (one of the many times), and I could not get up. I mean literally. I could not haul myself up to a sitting position. I was lying on my right side–always harder to get up from, partly because I can’t just roll off the bed and partly because all of H’s heavy parts are on my right side (he sticks his butt way up all the time, so it’s very easy to see where his butt and back are–and the ultrasound confirmed he’s in exactly the position I thought he was). I tried three times. I Could. Not. Get. Up. I was cussing like a sailor by the time I finally rolled onto my left side and flopped myself over the edge of the bed. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Poor GB. Living with me is not easy.

**My mom has asked me twice now if my doctors have talked about inducing labor. I keep reminding her that my due date is, technically, next week. She says she knows, she’s just wondering….Ugh.