I learned a new word last week. It has quickly become a swear word so cover your ears.
Prodromal Labor.
It's basically one step above hell and involves extreme amounts of lameness and stupidity. I didn't know it existed until a pointless trek to the hospital where a midwife introduced me to the official name of the phenomenon that has ruined many a nights' sleep for me. Somewhere close to every other night I go into "false labor" except that nothing about it appears false. I have regular contractions, increasing in strength, painful and moving closer together for hours and then they stop. And it should be illegal.
And it makes me grumpy. And I think it's making everyone else in my family grumpy too. They're all off kilter from the drama and I can't blame them because I have better weeks in my life too. My husband and parents have taken great care of me to the point of, well, being spoiled rotten, so I'm not going to complain entirely.
In fact, the parents took the kids and me to dinner last night while the husband was working and there, once again, the reality of having children spewed itself in my face...and all over my pants and shirt when The Girl's diaper was bloated past maximum capacity. Also, I had to ask the boys to please talk about their boogers and poop in an inside voice because the people behind us don't want to hear you discussing these things. And then I wondered what having 4 children will be like since I'm pretty sure the poo-talk increases exponentially with the growing brood. I guess I'll find out soon enough. Or not, because I'll be pregnant forever.
