My only Blogher note. Probably ever. It’s likely that I will never go to Blogher. MAYBE if it was located in Lancaster, which HAHAHAHA! (although, Blogher, listen up. Lancaster is building a new convention center…just saying).  I wish I wanted to go, what with everyone OMG!!ZZZ BLOGHER leading up to, during and in the hung-over recaps. While I like reading about the antics and the drama and am jealous because I lack the personality to drum up the level of enthusiasm these women have about meeting in person to talk about blahgging, the thought of me in that type of social situation makes me black out. Maybe 10 years ago I could do it. Yeah, definitely. Now I would probably hide in my room after sessions with room service, crappy cable and a bottle of wine. What I will say is that all of the Blogher drama and the “you had to be there!” recaps have been great sources for finding new blogs to read. Am mad deleting and adding new feeds…desperately needed.

So how about something totally unique…say a pregnancy update? No! you say…really? Because you having been talking about that at all! I mean, at this point, what’s there to say beside…am big and fat, swollen ankles, holy hell, is this baby ever going to come?  Here is one more thing.

Am being induced late Thursday afternoon. Which is, like, TOMORROW. Holy yay. Pilot fish should be here Friday or (if the universe hates me) Saturday. I’m fully expecting another marathon induction, wherein my labor is as easy to start as an open, honest dialogue on birth control with John McCain. (wha?) Easier second-time labor, my ass. This baby is still tucked up around my larynx, with no sign of dropping, and my cervix is playing completely dumb (baby when? Due date what? Are you expecting something? *blinkblink*) This boy is absolutely going to be bigger than Emerson. I have the horizontal stripes across the middle of my stomach that tell me so. I went to the grocery store last week and the sight of me carrying a watermelon under my arm nearly made my husband pee his pants with laughter. If he didn’t give such orgasmic foot rubs, his ass might be buried in the backyard right now.

Ok. So, I know it’s the way big medical practices work these days, but I hate having to see whatever doctor or midwife is available. You can’t get to know a single provider, which means I have to retell me life story every visit. I also have to account for my choices and decisions (last week…induction a go! This week…why induction? Why not wait it out?), convince every person I see that I am a thoughtful, well-informed and rational patient, not a hysterical, hormonally imbalanced pregnant woman who just wants this baby out already. Every provider I’ve seen has had a different opinion about risks, procedures, things to watch, etc. Fluid too high! Fluid fine. Induction reasonable! No, no, let’s wait and see. Baby is going to be 9 lbs or more! Nah, will be normal. Gaining too much weight! Weight is absolutely fine. You need an ultrasound! Ultrasounds not necessary.

Come The Fuck ON already. I’m sick of it.