And the countdown has begun. We're not even talking weeks now, it's down to days.

First off, the results of my latest prenatal visit: Status quo, with a little more info on why I'm getting a c-section. Not only is my pelvis fused together tighter than the Hoover Dam (which would make sense, since I'm also retaining as much water as said structure), but the baby has not "dropped" either. She is no where near my pelvis, which is why there's no pressure on my cervix to dilate or anything like that. This also explains too why I'm measuring so large and look so enormous, as my kid is "floating" as the doctor described it. The downside to this is, Veronica is now estimated to be born at a weight somewhere between 7.5 lbs and the upper 8 lbs. This is still very healthy, don't get me wrong, but the fact that I'm not giving birth to some huge baby means that, yup, I'm apparently just FAT. :-P

In the meantime, I've been counting down stupid things in my head. Stuff like "This will be the last Monday I'll be at work and not be a mom." "Wednesday night will be the last new episode of 'South Park' I will ever see before I become a mother." Upon taking off my bra last night, I looked down and realized that, a mere week into the future, I'd be using these things to feed my first child. (When I shared this with Jason, he took the observation a step further, noting that breastfeeding is the first time women actually use their breasts. He said that this is most likely why so many women have problems breastfeeding - if you had wings all your life but they were strapped to your back, would you instantly be able to fly the moment they were cut free? A point to ponder when Veronica fails to latch on for the umpteenth time next week....)

To bring her birth even further into reality, I was instructed to get some pre-admissions blood work done. My doctor said at my visit last Friday that I could go in on that day, but Wednesday was the latest I could get it done. I opted to come back some time this week. Then the woman at the scheduling desk said I could park in the 10-minute parking when I returned, because I'd just be in and out of the place.

I went on yesterday and was there for over an hour and a half. Good thing I'd opted to park in the garage.

First, the desk women at pre-admissions started murmurring to one another when I handed them Dr. Paul's prescription, muttering phrases such as "I didn't think we did these things here anymore" before asking me to take a seat. I waited about 15-20 minutes while leafing through a copy of "Rosie" magazine, the only one in the waiting area that had nothing to do with sports or being active during retirement. Then they called me over to give a copy of my insurance card (I had it out before they asked), confirm all my info, and then sent me back to the waiting area. I continued to read "Rosie" and formed the opinion that the magazine going under didn't have to do with Rosie quitting or coming out of the closet; instead, it was due to the fact that the writing contained within is utter crap. This took another God-knows-how-long until a nurse came out and massacred my name. When I responded to the unintelligible M-word the preceeded "WARREN", she led me into a little examining room and left me there for another long period of time, at least to an exhausted pregnant chick. I pulled out the footrest and laid down on the bed. Finally some guy in a white coat comes in to take my blood and make small talk about is this your first baby, have you found out what you're having, yada yada.

The needle is in my arm when he calmly says, "You'll probably have to have this done again later this week, we can't use blood work from a week before for this sort of thing."

Um, listen here, assholes, isn't this something you should've told me BEFORE you tapped a vein after making me wait over an hour?!?!

Then he places a hospital bracelet on my arm and tells me I need to leave it on until the surgery, "unless you have to come back later this week, in which case you'll get a new bracelet." It has stickers on it to match me up to my own blood, and he says it should last the week. Then he tells me to have a good day "and a blessed day!", pronouncing it "BLES-sed". Oy.

One of the stickers falls off at home when I'm using the wrist assist on my computer, and the entire thing looks pretty skanky after one shower in it. This whole thing is making me, for lack of a better term, confused. So I call my doctor's office, only to be told by her nurse that they can do the blood work when I come in that morning for the surgery. This, of course, makes me wonder why I'd wasted an hour and a half of my time, plus two bucks for parking, in the first place.

With any luck, this will be the last time I get so horrendously frustrated before becoming a mom. :-P