hmft

So, I make the decision to end my babymaking days. Get my tubes tied. I hate the way that sounds. "Tubes tied." Blech. Anywho, I head over to the medical center at the hospital to sign my fertility away. I detour into ER to ask a nurse the following:

"Been having Braxton-Hicks every five minutes for about three hours. Should I be concerned?"

Answer: Yes.

I am sent up to Labor and Delivery at 3PM. I am hooked up to monitors. Given an IV. Checked inside and out. Given a fetal fibronectin test, which will tell us all if I will have Jackson in the next week or two (HOLY SHIT, HUH?).

Turns out, no. Contractions were 3-5 minutes apart, but by the time I left at 8:30PM, they were sporadic at best. Jackson has not dropped, which I knew, because I can still walk. He is head down in the blast-off position. And all is well in the shire. The diagnosis was dehydration.

Soooooo...we know we've got two more weeks of baking the bun. Which is a huge relief. Aaaaaaand...on December 3rd, I will be 37 weeks along. Which means BooBoo can be born anytime after that, and be just dandy.

Bring. It. On.