I’m kicking it into high gear getting ready for the imminent baby arrival. I’ve been packing a bag, reassuring a toddler, and getting my playgroup squared away. I wish I had the gumption to clean the shower, but I just can’t seem to find the get-up-and-go. Even when I’m NOT 75 months pregnant (and mostly too big to BE in the shower), I don’t have the get-up-and-go to clean the shower.
The big, and only real fly in the ointment, is that I’ve caught a cold. It’s slowing me down, well about as much as a woman who’s already smuggling a bowling ball can be slowed by a furthering of air restriction and a head full of glop.
OK. Um. Gross.
Colds come and go, but the idea of having a c-section with a cough really sucks out loud. What little I remember about the last c-section, and there was very little I can recall, was trying desperately not not cough the one or two times I needed to clear my lungs. If I have to cough every few minutes, I may just strangle myself with my own I.V.
So, Tuesday is the trip to the hospital to see the anesthesiologist. I hope they don’t tell me I can’t have the baby. Cross your legs till you feel better. Go home till you aren’t so snotty. Yikes.
I’ll post again tomorrow about how things go.