I've been in early labor since early Monday morning, a ticking time bomb (I'm even all round and bomb-shaped), waiting for these interspersed contractions to turn into active labor. "Let me at the pain of regular contractions!" I say, "I can take it, just let me try!" But no dice. The pain is ignoring the gauntlet I've thrown to the ground. It has also ignored all the walking I've been doing, the bouncing up and down, the spicy food, and the red raspberry leaf tea I've downed in quantities sufficient enough to bring any other woman in the world into full-fledged labor long ago. I've tried every myth I've ever heard of for inducing labor except castor oil--a girl needs to keep some semblance of dignity, you know. I've tried getting everything super ready for going to the Birth Center so I'm not subconsciously putting off active labor because I don't feel ready. The house is clean. The nursery is stocked. Kip's and my shoes are by the door. But the contractions still come and go, despite all of my hard work at welcoming them.
Lorna, one of my midwives, told Kip on Friday that it'll probably be only a week--maybe two--until Bean is born, but despite her assurances, I think it's official: