Labor pains

I've been experiencing false or pre-labor since Wednesday morning. No baby yet, but it has been a time for reflection.  I have discovered a couple of things about myself.  First, at the slightest tinge of the first contraction, I begin impulsively cleaning.  Second,  when the contraction hits, I am not nice.  Not nice at all.  Let's cover this one first.

When Ella was born, my mom and my sister were both here to help. When labor began, Rebecca, whom I love dearly, was rubbing my neck and saying comforting things to me. I interrupted her to say, "Please stop using that high squeaky voice to talk to me!"  My mom told her, out of earshot, not to worry; the contractions would get much more painful.

Thanks, Mom.

On the way to the hospital, I started telling Handsome Hero everything I could think of that he could do that would make me angry, including reading me the little encouraging Bible verses I'd spent weeks collecting. I think my list lasted until we actually reached the hospital twenty minutes later.  Once I got an epidural, though, I was as sweet as pie.  I think Handsome Hero almost kissed the anesthetist.

With Jack, as the contractions got worse, I got more irritable. My doctor came in at one point and he and Handsome Hero began a rousing discussion about the implications of Obamacare, which was new at the time. I was put out that the focus was not where it should be - on ME. I was the one in labor. I was the reason we were all here. I should have been the single focus of both my doctor and my husband, who had gotten me into this mess in the first place.

This Wednesday, when I began having contractions, I was able to get through the day pretty well. At nine-thirty, Handsome Hero was getting something to eat when I said I was in the middle of a contraction. He didn't say anything, but walked to the fridge. I was aggravated that he had walked past me without touching me to comfort me {but if he had, I probably would have been annoyed that he wouldn't leave me alone}. After the contraction, I said in my snarkiest tone, “You know, I would appreciate if you would act as if these contractions hurt.  Because they do.”  He looked at me with wide eyes and said, “You really are in labor!”  And he went upstairs and packed his stuff for the hospital, a task I had been asking him to do for three days.  Apparently, he did not realize I meant it until my crankiness signaled to him that labor was indeed imminent.

Now to my other point.  Compulsive cleanliness.  How does a woman in the beginnings of labor clean, you ask?

1.  I do half-loads of laundry just to make sure everything is always clean. 
2.  I cleaned all the doors and trim in the house, including the inside of cabinet doors, with a magic eraser. 
3.  I can't stand anything being left in the sink. 
4.  I stand over my children while they eat and sweep up any crumbs before they hit the floor. 
5.  I make the kids clean their room to the point of crawling around on the floor picking up bits of lint.

I'm not even kidding about that last one.  Or any of the others.

Yes, I would say I'm ready for this baby. 

I think my family is even more ready. 

I wonder why....

I mean, I am a perfectly reasonable person. 

Agree with me or suffer the consequences.