In the morning I lose my mucus plug. Call the Beloved Mister.
"Hey, now!" he says on the crackling phone from the cab of his truck, "that's exciting. I got an adrenaline rush."
The day proceeds with bits of bloody show. Birth is imminent, not necessarily immediate.
In celebration, Em & I lunch at Taste of India. After the last many weeks of powering protein, it is time to carb load. We get our naan on.
Last week I was 2 cm dilated and somewhere between 50-75% effaced. The babe's station had him at engaged, but just barely so.
In the last few days, the pressure in my pelvis feels like a bowling ball between my legs. It intensifies today. I have those low down sensations not unlike menstrual cramps where it's not really pain, but an awareness of discomfort that hangs with me. And holds tight.
Over lunch, Em tells me that 10 cm is the size of a Krispy Kreme donut. I imagine Ziggy being birthed from a donut hole deep within me.
With a wider gait from the lightening that's taking place, I wander Target in the afternoon, hopping up the last few things we need to feather our nest: a cover for the pad on the changing table, a sheet for the mattress in the antique cradle, a robe and a gown for me that'll withstand multiple laboring positions, lochia and breast feeding.
I purchase a precious book and a card for my Mister, to be given him when labor starts for good, or when the babe is born, I am not sure which. I am weeping through Target. Happy. Anticipatory. In love with my man and my boy.
I weep intermittently the rest of the day into evening.
One hell of a bloody show, I tell you.