Ahhh, January 3rd. Today is the day that I've been saying for weeks would be "the" day. It's full moon day, and I'm banking on it sending me into labor. Well, that and the half of a pineapple I ate last night. I have a doctor's appointment in a couple of hours, and I've got my fingers crossed that things have progressed since last week. I'm just so afraid that I'm going to go into labor and not realize it after hearing stories from friends that they didn't even go to the hospital until they were seven centimeters because they didn't know they were in labor. It's pretty easy to convince myself that my contractions are all Braxton-Hicks and that all the pain I feel is pressure from her head. The question is: am I right, or am I just telling myself that?
Whichever it is, I've essentially felt like I've been running marathons for days because my body is so exhausted. Again, I'm telling myself it's my body's way of making me rest before the big show. I could just be tired. Being pregnant messes with your head.
So, I'm hitting the showers and heading to the doctor's office. Cross your fingers that the next post says that the P family has added its newest member. Go ahead and say a little prayer, too. It can't hurt. And if the appointment doesn't go as hoped, you'll find me walking laps at the mall and chowing spicy Mexican food for the rest of the day.