Tired...

I'm tired. A lot.

But today the reason is that I was awakened at 4:30 something this morning by the question "Dad, how many Braxton-Hicks contractions can I have in an hour before we have to call the hospital?"

Ok. I'm awake. "I think it's six. What did you have?"

"5"

I'm out of bed to look at the card that the nurse gave us. It doesn't tell me. S says she'll go look at her book (the binder that they gave her with all the info about pregnancy that one would ever need.)

She comes back and tells me that it is, indeed, six. I ask again how many she had and she tells me 5 in a little more than an hour.

I'm not alarmed, but not altogether calm either.

Go back to bed and relax, I tell her, and I do the same. I was actually able to go back to sleep for a while, but I dreamed of hospitals.

This on top of the fact that last night she announced that she only had 40 days left. My mind said "Ahhhhhh!", but my persona remained cool as a cucumber. In the next forty days I have to pack everything we own, move into a new apartment, take S to 5 doctor appointments, a hospital orientation and a lamaze class, complete adoption paperwork, contact the sperm donor dad, become a grandfather, and the good Lord only knows what else.

I need a vacation.