Tick tock

Note to self: after week thirty of pregnancy, always leave your house looking clean and wash your hair. You don't want to look like shit and come home from the hospital to a messy place.

The due date is a myth. They should just come up with a due year. In my case the doctor would just predict, "Your baby will be here either on 2011 or 2012," that way I would always clean my hair and iron straighten it.

As we drove to the hospital and my contractions got stronger and steadier at midnight last night, something suddenly downed on me: sex is a trick God created to make us procreate. If sex wasn't good, about eighty percent of us wouldn't be here. Ask your parents, if you don't have children. Most likely either your or your sibling were not supposed to be here.

Human beings, interestingly, are one of the few animals that have sex when they are not in a fertile phase. Anthropologists claim we are those horny beasts that can do the deed at any time mostly to keep the male entertained, so he doesn't go around making babies with other females and can, that way, keep his attention on the female at hand. Add the love chemicals to the equation and the male specimen stays put. That's the monogamy math for us humans.

God made it especially easy on us females to keep our distracting duties and trapping techniques by giving us orgasms. No other female animal has been reported to have it. Orgasms keep us from brushing off completely these needy creatures (men).

Once at the hospital, however, after the nurse figured out what triggered these contractions (we had " soup," for lack of better words), she said, "no more soup for you!"

Ok, she didn't quote Seinfeld, but that's how I took it, and that's what I told husband, "no more soup for you!"

In medical terms, this is called pelvic rest, which I find it to be an even more entertaining name, if your mind is dirty enough to visualize it.

The labor and delivery staff administered a drug called terbutaline, which feels like a mixture of an adrenaline shot and fifteen cups of coffee.

I was nauseated and my heart rate skyrocketed. Baby got pissed! His heart rate was also elevated and he tossed and turned and punched me.

I whispered to him that this was all daddy's fault, that mommy would never do that to him.

*wink*

Once the contractions were semi-normal and I still looked, behaved and felt like a heroine addict on withdrawal, they sent irritable me home saying once more, right before I left, "no more soup for you!"

They didn't really say those exact words, but you get the gist.

Ever since then I have been like a time ticking bomb, still having contractions and washing baby's clothes, sheets, blankets, putting together his car seat, ordering a breast pump, washing my freaking hair.

This may all be a fluke and baby will stay put. Only time will tell, so stay tuned.