And so it gets a little rougher

I’m going back to drinking eight glasses of water a day, I don’t care anymore. If I slosh, I slosh. I already use the bathroom fifty billion times a day. In fact, that is part of why I’m awake right now (half past midnight).

Apart from being dehydrated because someone assumed that I am stupid–I asked if my fast had to exclude water as well, and got told yes. This is untrue and idiotic. It is said because apparently some people think that “I can drink water” means “I can drink coffee/tea” or somesuch NONSENSE.

Ahem. Apart from that, the test was fine. Being stuck in the lab waiting room for several hours meant that I managed to finish A Year at the Movies. I also got stuck about six or eight times because my veins were not giving up the goods. But the phlebotomists at this lab are really nice, and I am a familiar face to them. Which is funny in a clinic, where they see a lot of people in and out all day. Anywho, I’m bruised and scabby with needlepokes now.

I’m also pretty darn to sobbingly certain that Owen has assumed the position. While walking to the bathroom after the whole ordeal was past, I felt a pain in my pelvis that would normally signify a severe trauma had taken place. I could not walk. Sitting initially hurt.

Now I can sit okay, provided I lean back enough, but walking is a tragedy. It literally makes me cry–when I can manage it.

The hardest thing is getting in and out of bed. I was all but bawling when Hubby helped me get into bed, but about two and a half hours later, I had to get up to use the bathroom. I had to use the headboard and my cane, and a whole lot of willpower, but I got back up. And was immediately afraid to lay back down again.

So here I am, sitting on the couch with my feet on the ottoman and my bathrobe as a sort of lap blanket. I’ll probably go to bed in a few hours.

Really, what worries me is that I’m pretty sure he’s not supposed to have moved into this position just yet. He’s at least two weeks early. On the brightest side, this means that I have six or seven weeks of weeping with every step I take. On the worrying side, he might be born two to four weeks early.

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