Let's meet the monkey inside Okay, I think I'm ready to have this baby now. I guess it won't be long now but waiting is tough. It's like how the last 15 minutes of work seem like the longest ever. My contractions, actually quite thankfully, went away so I slept last night, and they haven't come back this morning. I mentioned things to my husband about nipple stimulation and sex and orgasm making labor start and he seemed really okay with that, despite his earlier fear that he was going to poke his kid in the eye with his weenie. Maybe I should mention perineal massage again? I mean, that's good for everybody. Somebody scared me by telling me some horrible infection story about that, though. What is it with people? I carry this big-ass belly around and so people think they need to tell me every horror story ever lived through or conceived of on the planet. Can't they see that I've got psychoses? Plus, I've already lost one daughter to a heart defect, so no need to tell me that one (although the Russian lady at the deli at Fred Meyer already did tell me that one, and so I told her my story, and we shed tears over the beef display). I hope I never give advice to pregnant women. (Future value to teach kid: never give unsolicited advice to pregnant women). Or maybe I should just give really bad advice. "You know what finally brought on my labor? Crack cocaine. Works like a charm!" I am enjoying my last days as a person who can take random naps, etc., but it will be so nice to meet the Monkey, and it will be great to have my body back. I swear, I've spent the last nine months worrying about whether the foods I'm eating will cause some sort of chemical reaction in my kid's developing brain that will cause her to go out for cheerleading or vote Republican or something. Won't be long now. Maybe she'll be born on Christmas and we can name her Jesus. My dental hygenist was babbling on about her daughter, who was born on Christmas day, has red hair and green eyes and is named Holly. That's sick, man, just sick. |