I'm quite certain everyone's waiting on pins and needles to hear a status update about my basement reorganization. Because my life is damn exciting and lo! Y'all know this.
So I worked down there for hours on Saturday moving shit (did you know that I had every goddamn notebook from college? SO TRUE) (and all the books? I have so! many! books!) around, condensing, repacking out of disgusting cardboard and into plastic (waterproof!) tubs. Up and down the stairs, on and off throughout the day, putting in a good eight hours of Clearing Shit Out.
You know where the is going, right?
Of course you do. You're smart internet.
Sunday morning we went to "church" where I offered to hang with the teenagers at the last minute where we talked about the plot of "Saved" and how it correlated to "Ghandi" and WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT, I'M A GREAT INFLUENCE ON THOSE KIDS.
Anyway, so all I did was sit and talk. Yes? Yes. That's all. And drink water.
So imagine my surprise when I went to the bathroom before we left and...
There's no polite way to put this.
It was like my vagina had a raging head cold.
I've never lost my mucus plug before (and isn't 31 weeks a wee bit early to lose it?), apparently they magically disappeared. I bet they meditated and reached nirvana. That would explain their magical disappearance the previous two times.
But this? This isn't wasn't what the internets said it would look like. It was like a bad head cold and it was crying for a big dose of Robitussin. It was yellow and brown and red - so guess who was all OH MY HELL.
When we got home I double-checked (even though I made Aaron check it at "church" - I'm a loving, giving wife like that) and yep. Still head-cold-ish. So I called the doctor on call. Who said, and I quote, "Don't worry about it unless you start having contractions."
Fucking doctor jinxed me.
An hour later we were headed to the hospital and the nurse was all "Giiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrllll, you are having some con'trax'ions." Um, thanks.
And then when she checked downtown? "Boy howdy you are mucus-eeeee down there!"
Alrighty. Good to know I'm not losing my mind.
Four hours, two blown vessels and a fancy-pants plastic cup later I was released.
Everything is fine now. Or, at least, fine-ish. I'm still contracting, but I've been contracting through the whole pregnancy. Tomorrow I get my 89th progesterone shot (or 17th shot - po-tay-toe, poh-tah-toe) to keep baking this ornery baby.
Just a few more weeks. It feels like a battle between the uterus and the mind.