I'm entering the watched-pot stage, those last two weeks of pregnancy where everyone's convinced my water will break in their presence, that they'll be calling for boiled water and clean towels, that the kid will end up with their name as a sign of my eternal gratitude.
Which isn't an impossibility.
J was born in a quick two hours, in what the midwives refer to as a precipitous birth, and the likelihood is that I'll be headed down that road again. Fine with me.
In the meantime, I don't leave town. I call when contractions start -- not when they reach the criteria on the "When to Call the Midwives" sheet. And I keep the water boiling. Not hard when it is about 200 degrees around here anyway.
Posted at 2006-07-12 11:30:47