It is time to get this baby out. I'm officially launching Operation Evacuate the Baby 2009.
It's an operation launched out of desperation, and one that has pretty weak resources devoted to it - just me, and my thick brain and nonexistent energy.
The thick third trimester fog has descended on my brain. It started earlier - I couldn't pull up words like turnip or opaque. Then I began to misread words - habitat as humane, tablespoon as teaspoon - and misdialing at least two thirds of the numbers I call. Thanks to my confusion, Axel has been told his orange shovel is purple, that a platypus is an armadillo, and that helicopters are airplanes.
Now, I'm having a hard time with small talk. There are minute-long pauses in conversations, as I try desperately to think of a response to a regular question like how are you feeling, or prod myself to participate in playground small talk like a regular human being. Think, think, think, I say, and then, before I can engage in a conversation, I have to run off to save Axel from trying to climb down the chainlink on the side of the play structure that he cannot maneuver nearly as well as he thinks he can.
My mental energy is consciously devoted to basics, like willing my water-logged legs to move forward and walk during the hours after 3 pm, when the life has been sucked out of them. I focus on the heat of our bedroom, which is overpowering to me and my burning feet even though we've been blessed with a pretty mild June. And then, there's the time I spend thinking about contractions: when will they start, am I having one, are the handful of contractions I've had in an afternoon going to speed up already.
For the sake of what's left of my brain, not to mention the aches and exhaustion and my body's general rebellion against the basics of breathing and digestion, this baby needs to get a move on. I'm just over two weeks from the due date. He's full term. He can come any day, and I'm going to do what I can to encourage him.
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