Revenge of the reproductive organ

Apparently my uterus was offended at the letter I wrote and it decided to get me back last night.  I had the usual hour or so of contractions after supper when I started feeling cooped up and decided to take a walk.  Mike was watching Jumanji with the kids, so it was a good opportunity to go out by myself and see if I could get something happening.  I made it half a block when I was already feeling mighty uncomfortable and by the time I got halfway into my walk, I was stopping pretty frequently to bend over or squat to relieve some of the pain.  I sat down on a bus stop bench about a block from home to rest and then dragged myself the rest of the way.  Mind you, this was not a terribly long walk – I didn’t walk miles or anything, just a few blocks (okay, I don’t really know how far I walked and I lost track of time, so I can’t even relate that information).  I got home, collapsed into the rocking chair and spent the next half hour or forty-five minutes breathing and groaning and complaining about my pain.  We put the kids to bed in the middle of all that and I still felt pretty bad.  Mike went out to mow the lawn and I sat at the computer most of the time he was outside.  Little by little, my ridiculously painful Braxton Hicks contractions went away.  We went to bed somewhat early, although it took me ages to fall asleep because of my ribs.

Today, I’m tired, nauseated, still having contractions and absolutely no signs that they are “real” contractions.  My half hearted joke from yesterday is still floating in my head: “Let’s get on with the bloody show!”  Yeah, Mike didn’t even really laugh, but he’s the one who asked if I was having any yet. 

I’m starting to look forward to Tuesday, when I may very well give birth almost on my own.  I would still love to have the baby before then, but I’m having doubts. 

Meanwhile, the kids decided today would be a good day to be clingy, argumentative (in the way that a three year old and twenty-one month old can be) and demanding.  At the moment, they’re quietly eating lunch and watching Rugrats for the second time today (yeah, I’m weak; movies are too easy).  When they’re done, they’ll have a nap and I can lay down or manically clean things, depending on what mood strikes me.  What I would really like is one of two things: to go into labour right now or to let someone else deal with the kids for the rest of the day while I climb into bed and feel sorry for myself.  And maybe sleep.  It seems that I’m more likely to go into labour than for someone to magically show up at my house just begging to watch my kids.  Maybe after the baby is born, but not now.  Poor me.  Poor pregnant me.

Am I pitiful or what?