Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy

You got excited at the thought of some Deep Thoughts, didn't you? Well, because I don't want to be a liar, here are some of my favorites...and then we'll get down to business.

real Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy

I bet the main reason the police keep people away from a plane crash is
they don't want anybody walking in and lying down in the crash stuff,
then, when somebody comes up, act like they just woke up and go, "What
was THAT?!"

If you ever fall off the Sears Tower, just go real limp, because maybe
you'll look like a dummy and people will try to catch you because, hey,
free dummy.

If you lose your job, your marriage, and your mind all in one week, try to lose your mind first, because then the other stuff won't matter that much.

I have to say, I got one of his books for my 16th birthday and I still laugh like a lunatic when I read them. So, anyway, on with the update.

We went to the doctor Thursday and I have to say, things are changing at this stage of the game. After the routine blood pressure, listen for the heartbeat, get my weight, the nurse starts digging in some drawers for some "instruments". They are enclosed in plastic and I'm realizing that this visit is going to be different. And I'm not exactly pleased. So I ask her what we will be doing today and she said that I will be having my cervix examined. Start adrenaline rush here. She smiles and leaves (she really is one of my favorite nurses, but I am a bit neurotic and am only able to concentrate on what the good doctor will find). You see, I have been saying that I am ready to have this baby and meet her and hold her and while I mean all of these things, I am now suddenly acutely aware that I am indeed not ready and if he tells me I have started to dilate, I think I will fall off of the pseudo bed. So I'm sitting as nicely as possible on the pseudo table complete with the drape around me to make me more modest. Then I realize that the backside of me is not covered by the lovely drape and move quickly to cover all things me that are not meant for everyone to see. This apparently makes Jeff laugh as he asks why I don't want the hallway to see my naked hiney. So now I'm covered, sitting on the dumb table bed and I keep looking to the shrink wrapped instruments on the counter. Not wanting to get up and disturb my strategically placed drape, I tell Jeff to get up and look at what is on the counter. "Some sort of CSI looking swab" is what he comes up with. What are they doing to me? Is this a trick PAP Smear? What is going on. The heart rate continues to go up. Before I can either calm myself down or jack myself up any farther, the good doctor comes in. All smiles. Yeah, he hasn't been staring down some shrink wrapped instruments for 15 minutes. I'm not good at the unknown if you can't tell. :-)
On with my antics...er story. So apparently the swab is not for Gil Grissom, but rather to test to see if I have Group B Strep. This is apparently not completely uncommon and is not harmful to me, but is severely harmful to the baby. If it is positive, I am not to panic, because they will just give me an antibiotic when I'm in labor and that will protect Emma. Feeling better. Then he does the pelvic and then we're done.
He did not laugh at me this time. But he did ask me to make an appointment with the imaging center downstairs as he wants to go over the ultrasound and start making decisions. Will I go into labor? Will he decide she's too big and schedule a C-Section? All that remains to be seen as a result of the ultrasound. He did say that it was very possible that she was not a huge baby and that I was just big and would be able to have her naturally. Well, not NATURALLY, please pass the epidural, but I would not necessarily have to have surgery. Awake. In a hospital. All of which I would so be looking forward to. Sigh.
So we say our good byes (he will be out of town for the next week or so, so I do not have to come in next week.) Doctor vacation. Additional stress on me. Sweet Baby Emma, stay inside a bit longer please. As long as he's back when she is coming, we'll be just fine.
So down we go from the 4th floor to the 1st floor and into the imaging center. I thumb my nose at the blood drawing place across the hall and thank my stars that I'm done with that area. I smile at the women behind the counter and announce that I need to schedule an ultrasound in two weeks. The nurse smiles back (sort of) and says she doesn't have anything available in 2 weeks. I smile again, and say, "Oh, it doesn't have to be two weeks exactly from today - we can go forward or backward a day or two." I am so accommodating. Then she explains that she doesn't have anything open for 4-5 weeks. I quickly do some calculating and realize that this is past my due date. A bit anticlimactic, don't you think? I now look to Jeff like I don't understand now what to do and he quickly explains to the nurse that "my wife will be in labor by then!" Sweet Jeff. He can tell my anxiety level is going up and I can see it is affecting him as well. I turn back to the nurse as she laughs and says, "Look, what I'll do is schedule you for Thursday the 12th as a 'work in' which means that you get here at 7:30 am and your wait time will be anywhere from 30 minutes to 4 hours. My eyes glaze over at the mention of 4 hours and she quickly assures me that they will do their best and perhaps someone will oversleep and not make it for their 7:30 am appointment. She gives me the paper I will need to get in the door and Jeff and I head out to our car. I realize that I have no way to schedule an appointment with Dr Irwin "afterwards" because who knows how long I'll be sitting in the Imaging Center? I decide rather than head baaaack up to the 4th floor, I'll just call the nurses directly tomorrow and work it out with them. I have a fake appointment at 11:30 but the nurse said whenever I'm done - be it before or after just come upstairs and they'd work me in. I'm going to be getting worked in all over the place on the 12th. But all in all, I'm starting to go back to my "just get her out" feelings. Which brings me to this morning.
I wake up at 4 something and have to visit the little cowgirl's room. Apparently, Jeff has the same idea and he gets up as well. We meet back in the bedroom and I tell him the thought of trying to get back into bed distressed me (Under normal - read NOT PREGNANT - circumstances, I like to sleep like a princess. Like down feather beds, down pillows, down comforter, the bed is up 6 inches higher than your bed probably is and I love it. My mamma told us that our beds were a safe place to be and that it was a wonderful place. Perhaps I didn't like to go to bed as a child, but it worked. I love my bed. Normally. I've taken off the feather bed and need Jeff's help to "pull" me in at night.) My right ear is going to look like I've spent time training for UFC because I can only sleep on my right side and I wake up with it sore. Trying to flip to my left side is a feat better left for someone more agile and plus, the fan can't blow on my face and I get too hot. So I tell Jeff I'm going to go out to the living room and set up shop on the couch. He says he'll come with me. Sweet husband. He gets me situated on my left side on the couch (ah relief already) and settles down into the big chair for some sleep. I thought. He asks if I mind if he turns on the TV. No problem, I fall asleep to it all the time. He then carefully lowers the volume and selects the Academy Award winning movie, Harley Davidson and The Marlboro Man. Seriously? There is a movie named that??? Aaaand it's about robbing an armored van (or something along those lines) and I know this because of the incessant gunfire that occurs during the movie. Gunfire that doesn't allow me to drift peacefully off to sleep. Finally at 6:30 I ask nicely, "Honey, next time I come out here, you don't have to come with me" Meaning, I am still tired, this baby feel like she weighs 90 pounds and is sitting on my pelvic bone, I can hardly get up off the couch without your help, and I cannot believe you turned on the TV and kept me awake with a dumb made for TV movie about a man named Harley Davidson and his companion The Marlboro Man. He didn't want me to have to be alone in the living room. Such a sweetie! But really, thanks anyway - I'll pass next time. LOL. I'm so lucky he's sweet and supportive 99.9% of the time. This morning was an oversight. At 6am I was not amused, but at almost 5pm, I'm smiling and laughing at the story.