So here we are, twelve hours later, pretty much in the same spot. Contractions are still 15 minutes apart, or so I assume, since I've been dealing with Miss M's bedtime routine (voluntarily) for the last couple hours and haven't really had a chance to time them.
I spent a good chunk of the afternoon alone, relaxing, hydrating and power-napping. The crew returned home with my Camy's take-out around 6:30. Cha Cha and M were off playing for a while, then joined me in the kitchen for a pre-bath Play-Doh party. She (the child) was being unusually cooperative, actually heeding time limits on playtime and bathtime. It was ominous, really. We got through a few books, including our homebirth picture book, just fine, but when the lights went down, the monkey emerged. When I reached the limit of my patience and could no longer communicate in calm, baby-soothing tones, The Admiral stepped in, gallantly abandoning the season finale of Deadliest Catch to help get her down.
Aaaand that's about it for now. When I last spoke to Andrea, around 4:30, she said to give her a call when my contractions got longer than a minute and/or less than 10 minutes apart, which looks like it won't be happening anytime before midnight. If at all. Maybe I'm gestating a practical joker with a very acute sense of timing.
Took The Admiral up on his suggestion of another walk, which got contractions going between 7-11 minutes apart and lasting almost a minute. Stopped by the apartments behind our house to hear and witness the loudest group of mating toads ever. Had another shower when we got back, changed into pajamas and, at 10:38 pm, broke into Birth Bag #1 to make up the bed. Had a few contractions somewhere in there but didn't notice the clock. Cha Cha just took her crossword into the office/guest suite, The Admiral is lining up his last snack of the day, and I'm planning to roll into bed right after The Colbert Report. Good night, y'all.