Now entering Day 10 of The Long String Of Having Some Contractions Every Day.
Yeah, every day, for a few hours. It's not too bad, except that they tend to tire me out. One thing that's probably good about this: ten days ago, when I had a series of contractions in a row, I was thinking, Oh nooooooo, I am not ready for this yet. By now I'm thinking, Please please please let this be the start of labor. Let's go.
Third time through, and everything feels different. When I was waiting for Milo to be born, I kept wandering around the duplex, thinking, I need to fix a rope or something to the doorjamb or the ceiling, so I have something to grab onto and hang from when I'm in labor. I never got around to it, but interestingly enough, I did deliver Milo while "hanging" (albeit standing, supported by hanging from my arms over the shoulders of two other people). Last night, downstairs in the kids' playroom, I noticed the "swinging rings" dangling from the ceiling joists. I reached out and took hold of them; I leaned back; I bent my knees and sank down until my weight stretched into my arms, wrists, hands. I paused for a moment, experimenting.
Ow. Ow. Ow. My elbows were coming apart. I let go.
I'm a planner by nature. I like to have a calendar on the wall with big squares to write everything down. Weekly meal planning? I have a stack of preprinted blanks in the kitchen drawer. I like to know every morning what I'm doing that day. Um. Can't really do that now.