A Kick in the Ribs...

Baby boy, he is a'growin! And moving all around. His two favorite activities are kicking me in the bladder and poking around my ribs. Oh, the joys! Seriously? It *still* amazes me every time I feel him squirm. And I think, HOLY CRAP, we'll actually get to meet him in less than 10 weeks. I. CAN'T. WAIT!

So while I am all excited and in awe of this perfect little baby boy in my belly, I am also starting to FREAK OUT. What if I go into labor early? What if I go into labor alone, because D is in Louisiana? I read the other day that women who work out during pregnancy, as I have proudly been doing, typically go into labor 9 days earlier than sedentary women. I'm scheduled for induction at 39 weeks, so that's 7 days early. BUT... what about those other 2 days? What if I go into labor on the friday before, and D isn't home yet? HUH? THEN WHAT? *ahem*

I am ready for Ethan's arrival. I'm ready (as I'll ever be) to wake at all hours of the night, to change a squillion dirty diapers, to have him knaw on my oh-so sensitive nipple while he feeds... but to actually GIVE BIRTH? I'm not so sure. It really doesn't sound like much fun. So I'm thinking I might be able to strike some sort of deal with my son, like if he gives me an easy labor and delivery, I promise that I won't make him watch Barney, like, EVER, and that I'll warm every baby wipe before it touches his fragile little behind. Cut each other a deal. He scratches my back, I'll scratch his.