Ticking Time Bomb

I guess this is the part of pregnancy that gets kind of messy. Well, not literally. But it gets tricky to tell people how things are going without talking about what is actually happening. 

The science-y people get it, because it's simply biology.

The moms get it, because they went through it.

However, that leaves a whole heck of a lot of other folks out there in the world--an in my life--that I don't know how to quite explain what's just happened and what's about to transpire.

Here goes: at the end of pregnancy, there are certain things the body does to signal that the end time is near. Here's a link to a very straightforward list of signs of labor (not some lady's grossly detailed ranting blog--there are a few out there, let me tell you. These are not helpful.).

Here's what I will tell you: my body released the material protecting the baby's cocoon. I'll admit that I had a little internal freak out at happy hour when I discovered what had happened. (The virgin Bloody Mary was good before that moment. So good.) Fortunately, it was time to pay the tab and get home. 

At that moment I knew: all that separates this baby from the outside world is one distressed membrane.  I imagine that this is what it's doing up in there right now:

Our baby getting a good look at the world before it decides to make its arrival.

How long will the water balloon hold up? I did some online reading and discovered that I could go into labor in hours, days or weeks. Not helpful. I also learned that my body would repair itself in 1-2 days. I decided I was putting myself on "couch rest" to let that happen and to buy a little time between peeping-Tom-stage and head-through-vagina-stage. 

Heck, I'd hang upside down from the rafters if that meant babe and I could live symbiotically for seven more days. For now, I'll put my feet up, cross my legs (and fingers) and tell the universe that I need a little more time.