Big day count down.

First I have to apologize to a good friend of mine. She's home visiting her family here in our home state and Peanut's Dad and I were supposed to go visit last night but I was feeling so badly I could hardly get up to get a glass of water. I was so upset because she has just had the most precious little boy and I was so looking forward to seeing her, her son and her husband again I was almost giddy. Fibro and pregnancy do not mix well. Less so when I can't take anything to pain other than Tylenol. So to her I say I'm so beyond sorry I missed time with you three.

Being 8 months along is a good and bad place to be. For starters I am nearing the end of a 9 (10) month ordeal. And yes I mean ordeal. When you think about what a women's body does to sustain and grow life it's beyond awe inspiring. Not to mention the things mom has to give up to help make her baby as healthy as she can and the things she endures. Smelling peanut butter and throwing up, swollen feet, heartburn, breathing problems. Jealous cats. It is an ordeal but one that is cheerfully welcome to most women.

This is a time when showers are given and attended, nursery's are set up, car seats are installed and tiny clothes are laundered gently then had mom's face buried into them to smell the impending baby. It's a time of anticipation and longing. And intense fear.

You see that's the bad thing about 8 (9) months pregnant. You are utterly aware that this human is going to come out of your hoo ha. Something you are sure cannot possibly happen except your friends, mother and doctor assure you that this is not only possible but going to happen.

What's worse is that you know that even after birth there isn't a reprieve. No then you become a parent. You are given charge of this tiny helpless stranger who screams a bit and sleeps a lot and has your husbands eyes. No doubt that is the great part too but anyone who's ready to be a parent should be scared spitless right about now.

You're last few weeks of non parenthood become Days on a calender. Saturday is our hospital tour day. I'm getting Peanut's Daddy there by telling him that there is food and prizes. He'll do just about anything for a half dry sandwich. I'm looking forward to being about other pregnant women in my shoes. Mostly so I can look in their eyes and see the same terror I know is in mine as the nurse tells us all about our impending event.

A shower is coming in soon and in the next two weekends one room will be cleared out and prepped for incoming baby items while another room needs to be re arranged to fit the stuff from the other room. A bag needs to be packed, a list of phone numbers put together. A list of things that are going to be ticked off while in the back of your mind you hear the bong of a clock as the minutes tick by.

The worst part is that there is no way you can totally prepare. This baby will come when he wants how he wants and there is nothing I can do to stop or change that. Everything can be totally done and I could stand in the middle of his waiting nursery bloated, swollen and huge balling my head off because he's not out yet. Or I could be yelling at his father to hurry up and put bracket D with slot G and my water could break. You cannot prepare to the minute for birth unless you had a date and time scheduled with your local maternity ward.

Knowing my husband I think this kid is going to come in the middle of a late snow storm. But don't quote me on that.