I got a letter in the mail from my delivering hospital the other day. I had a near panic attack.
At first, I thought it was a bill for 5 million dollars worth of blood work.
Then what was actually inside made feel light headed, wobbly, sweaty, and made my face turn red.
Pre-registration forms. For Labor and Delivery. To have a baby. A real baby. A baby they expect me to birth.
But I still have 11 more weeks until my due date. That's still like 5 months away, right? And don't they know that my babies like to gestate for at least 48 weeks?
Oh well. I'll fill it out and send it in. And I'll feel light headed, wobbly, sweaty, and my face will be red the entire time.
So I guess I'm having a baby, ya'll.
And in conclusion to Sunday's overly dramatic post...
I chose sanity.
Thank you for all of your comments. You were all so encouraging and gave me the confidence to make the choice that was best for us. Sometimes my perfectionistic and headstrong attitude blows things out of proportion. I have a new paci deadline. Age 12. That way I won't be disappointed, right?