Yesterday as Owen and I enjoyed lunch and a showing of the movie Cars, (chicken nuggets for him, kung pao chicken for me) I noticed that my contractions were strangely close together. 4 minutes exactly. So then I was in a pickle, because it was 2:15 and the girls get out of school at 2:45 and Scott was unreachable at the range and Oh, What to do? What to do? So I called MAJ Somers' office.
*About two weeks ago Scott and I had this conversation:
I don't like the fact that I call and call and I can't get in touch with you.
Well, if you can't get me, call MAJ Somers' office. There's ALWAYS someone in there that will answer that phone, and they can come find me.*
To make a long story short, and to use as few bad words as possible on the blog, we'll just say that no one answered the phone.
I called Scott's office hoping that the training NCO would pick up and lo and behold Scott answered. Scott, who was supposed to be at the range from 1 to 4 answered the phone in his office at 2:20. I politely explain the situation. Scott begins to fidget and cuss a little.
Bob Ventura (Becca's husband) comes and gets Owen and Scott meets him here with the girls, who he's picked up from school early. Scott and I go to the doctor's office. I am subjected to a pelvic exam (YAY). 3 cm. I am then told to go home and wait for the contractions to "intensify." I was told this by a man doctor, who, being a man has therefore never had a single contraction in his life and has also never pushed a baby out of his body. But I must say he did give me more vicodin and told me to take no more than three a day so I don't dull the contractions too much.
The contractions are intensifying, but not all at the same time. Some are not bad, some take my breath, some sting, and some hurt. It's a good thing that I believe variety is the spice of life.
I am presently hoarding the vicodin pills so I can sell them on the street corner to some of Scott's soldiers.
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