Truth is the truth

In this corner, weighing an infantile six pounds, 13 ounches, is Truth.

Truth, or Tru as he'll probably be known (and yes, that's really his name, arrived at 4:53 a.m. Wednesday Aug. 30 after Sarah endured nearly 24 hours of labour. Tru is fabulously healthy and happy and proved mommy knows her tummy, since she predicted a boy, while the BF predicted a girl. Even website visitors voted 55 per cent that it would be a boy.

There might be more(or not)

The truth is out

Baby has arrived. Know the sex? Guessed the name? All will be revealed, once mom and dad get some sleep and can post the full story.

There might be more(or not)

'I look like a mechanical dog'

BF here, Sarah's busy with a contraction.

"I look like a mechanical dog," Sarah groaned, kneeling on our living room floor, with her head buried on the couch. It was mid afternon today. Her rear was swaying ryhthmically, a ploy to ease the agony of labour pains that started about 6 a.m. Through tears and screams, she still wants to be the funny one. Baby's coming soon - stay tuned.

There might be more(or not)

You, Me and Free Quiche

At 5:30 this morning, I was going to pull it together, log on and tell y'all that within the next few hours, I would be heading to Kingston General Hospital to have my baby.
We'd been up since 1 a.m. battling through contractions. They started at around 1 a.m. and came every 10 minutes or so, lasting a little more than a minute. I thought this was it. The boyfriend thought this was it. We were having our baby.
Then I went to sleep and woke up six hours later, just before noon. I'd gone those full six hours without any contractions. Where's our baby? I wondered aloud.
We had a doctor appointment today at 1:30 p.m. so we headed there and I gushed all about my contractions. What had gone wrong? Where was my baby?
Our lovely doctors simply said it was false labour. My body was just practising.
Well, lovely. These contractions hurt and they were just little warmups?
They said if I don't have the baby by Friday, I should call.
So, we did what any couple awaiting their baby would do: We went to Costco to buy laundry detergent.
In we went with our giant grocery cart, ready to buy detergent and maybe have some free samples. We'd barely made it through the electronics section when BAM! contraction hit. The boyfriend asked if maybe I'd like to get out of the aisle and let all the other shoppers go around me.
Nun-unh, I muttered. I was staying put.
A minute or so later, the contraction subsided, I let go of my death grip on the shopping cart and we carried on our merry way until BAM! Another contraction hit.
This was how we spent the next hour: wandering the aisles of Costco, buying detergent, scone batter, juice boxes and spinach-stuffed cannelloni while I suffered through abdominal spikes.
The only thing that seemed to take the edge off was the pizza and quiche samples. I made the boyfriend get me a second sample from the pizza lady. Hey, I'm a labouring lady. I needed the sustenance.
A couple hundred dollars, six contractions and three samples later, we were ready to leave. I almost made it to the front doors when one final contraction hit, just as I was passing an electric blue $6,000 whirlpool. To passersby, it looked like we were probably seriously studying this outdoor spa, thinking about buying it as an addition for our backyard. Truth be told, I had to hold on to it for support as the boyfriend quietly whispered encouraging words in my ear.
Since then, I've had a couple more bring-me-to-my-knees moments but I'm feeling pretty good. (As I write this my tummy is tightening though ... Stay tuned.)

There might be more(or not)

100 sexy Sarah secrets

I started writing this months and months and months ago.
Numbers 1 to 20 were written in April. The rest were done at the end of August while I wait and wait and wait for baby to arrive and to give you something to read.

The boyfriend is reading a Michael Crichton book and I have run out of US magazines to read so I was Googling "hip, pregnant mommies." I found the site of a woman in New Jersey who wrote a 100 things about herself list. My favourite admission is No. 34 "My boobs are saggy."

Here's my list. (It's big and full of surprises.)

1. I had knee surgery at Sick Kids Hospital in Toronto to remove a benign tumour in my knee when I was five years old. The scar looks like a smushed worm. It's on my left leg.
2. When I was a child, about five or six years old, I used to sneak into the bathroom and drink Kaopectate because I liked the taste of it.
3. I love cheese. On everything.
4. I hate ham. But I love bacon and I like sausage on bagels.
5. I was the editor of the Queen's University student newspaper in 1999-2000.
6. I have a scar on my forehead from picking a zit that wouldn't go away when I was in Grade 10.
7. I have a mole on my neck that I used to hate until my mother told me it wasn't a mole. It's a beauty mark. Then I thought it was pretty.
8. When I was a little girl, I loved watching beauty pageants. Once, during Miss Universe, you could call in and vote. I voted for Miss Venzuela who was wearing this stunning emerald green dress. She lost and I cried.
9. My favourite show when I was little was Laverne and Shirley. Now I love CSI. The episode with Nick in the Box by Quentin Tarantino was the best thing to ever land on TV.
10. My boyfriend has the spirit of a 16 year old in love.
11. I don't read enough, and yet I always have time for US and People. Bad.
12. I love tomatoes. I put them on everything.
13. I love Grease. There's a line in the movie when the boys are talking about a girl's jugs. When I first saw the movie when I was five, I thought they were talking about milk jugs. I was too young to understand.
14. I really miss my university roommates. We were close for four years and then everyone left and then I fell out of touch with them. Virginia, e-mail me would ya? Adria, we need to have dinner again. Shaun: I miss you. I need to meet your wife.
15. I love John Cusack, well, maybe not John Cusack but the way he makes women feel in all his romantic comedies.
16. Love The Mission.
17. Can't believe I sat through White Chicks.
18. Love falling asleep to the sound of falling rain.
19. Love sleeping.
20. Love raw cookie dough batter but don't love cookie dough ice cream.
21. Got stretch marks on my hips from when I was a growing teen but didn't get any new ones during pregnancy.
22. When I was a little girl, I made up my own swear phrase. I used to say "shoot and a shit and a pity pit pit" but under my breath so no one could hear me.
23. I love playing mini golf.
24. I think Kingston's Ryan Malcolm got a raw deal after Canadian Idol ended and he got dumped from Sony-BMG. The guy can sing. Anyone who saw him sing He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother on the show knows that.
25. I'm also biased because I dated his very sweet older brother for a year (after the show ended; no conflict of interest.)
26. Love Rockstar: Supernova. Think Ryan Star is going to win.
27. I once stole a little blue change bag decorated with beads from church when I was a little girl. I squeezed it in my hand until Sunday School ended and took it home.
28. My Grade 8 grad date got me an orchid for our prom. Everyone else had a carnation. I had an orchid. LOVED IT.
29. During Kingston's great Ice Storm in 1998, I was a Queen's University student. We had just gone grocery shopping and spent buckets of money so we came up with an ingenious plan. We took our food, put it in suitcases and duffel bags and put it on our roof. We had no power and we thought all the meat and cheese and stuff would stay cool up there. Well, in the craziness of the power outage, we forgot about it and couldn't figure out why our bedrooms stunk that spring when we opened our windows. My poor younger brother had to climb onto our roof and cut that bags down which were now full of decomposing slush that had once been boneless chicken breasts.
30. I once wrote a racy short story when I was a little girl. I don't remember much about it except 1) it contained the word "boobies" and 2) my mom said I shouldn't write such things at such an early age.
31. I love pineapple on pizza.
32. I always wanted to pierce my nose when I was in high school. My parents wouldn't let me. They said it would scar my skin.
33. I used to have a crush on the blond-haired dude on the cartoon Scooby Dooby Doo. I don't like blond men anymore.
34. I turned down a juicy editor job offer in Toronto because we had just started to aclimatize two children to the idea of the fact we could be a "family" and I decided I couldn't, right then, be selfish and move 250 kilometres away. Visiting on weekends just wasn't an option. I chose family over career. It was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make.
35. I hate cheap people. I know a lot of them.
36. Nickname a boyfriend used to call me: "sleeping angel."
37. Nickname another boyfriend used to call me "buttons."
38. Nickname THE BOYFRIEND calls me "GG."
39. My brother is hot.
40. I was a guest on a Men TV show called Guy Stuff with John Moore on Global for five episodes. The shows aired this summer. I was afraid my parents would see them because we talked about some bad things: sex, condoms, the phrase MILF.
41. I turn 30 next year.
42. After I'm done breastfeeding, I want to get my teeth whitened.
43. Why? I smoked for more than a decade.
44. And now I have asthma and have to use a steroid inhaler once a day. It costs $100 per puffer. Thank god for medical coverage.
45. I want to go to Hawaii and stand in a waterfall.
46. I flew to England once to meet a boy.
47. I flew home to Canada without the boy.
48. I do not own an iPod. I'm the only person I know who doesn't have one.
49. I borrow the boyfriend's and put Joan Jett and Justin Timberlake on it. Ha!
50. I make a mean banana bread.
51. I eat veggie burgers now. One third the fat of regular hamburgers.
52. But I smear them in curry mayo or tzatziki.
53. I love the TV show, So You Think You Can Dance.
54. There was a boy in my elementary school named Scott who all the girls thought was the best dancer. I dated him at the same time as my friend Holly.
55. I used to wear a retainer. It was called a Bionator. It had a silver piece around my top teeth and a huge plastic part that wrapped around my lower teeth. It was to correct my overbite. I never wore it in school and I "accidentally" left it in a motel room on a family vacation when we were driving through Sudbury.
56. I want a bubble machine at my wedding.
57. I fear the grey hair.
58. I fear crow's feet.
59. My favourite spice girl was Ginger – Geri Halliwell.
60. My favourite Backstreet Boy was Kevin Richardson.
61. My favourite American Idol was Clay Aiken. I maybe, possibly, cried when he lost to Ruben Studdard. (Hey, it was a bad time in my life. I was getting dumped that summer.)
62. I played the oboe in high school for five years. I wish I had played in university. Giving up music is one of my biggest regrets.
63. I sang in choirs in high school for five years. I wish I had sang in university. Giving up music is one of my biggest regrets.
64. I have really ugly fingernails. They're wide and soft. And just plain bleh.
65. I get called a noob (sometimes spelled neub or kneub) by 13 year olds for being unhip when it comes to technology. (See No. 48 re: iPod.)
66. I love escargot.
67. Maybe I watched Laguna Beach and The Hills. Liked Laguna better.
68. Love the song Lonesome Road by James Taylor.
69. Want to go back to New York City to Broadway and see a show there.
70. When I used to get drunk in high school, I'd break out the robot dance. Think Styx-like dancing.
71. My mother is the smartest person I know.
72. My father is the kindest person I know.
73. My parents are impossible to live up to. They were the perfect parents.
74. The boyfriend and I have our own special little place known as "sketchy road."
75. My degree is in sociology.
76. When I get nervous, I pick the sides of my thumbs.
77. The boyfriend thinks I have a minor case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. If I can't do something properly, I have to go back and do it all over again.
78. Speaking of that, sometimes I play this little game on the TV remote control where I touch each number, 1 to 9, and then do it faster and faster and faster again until I can't perfectly hit all the numbers. OK, weird, I know.
79. I switched to decaf coffee when I was pregnant.
80. Before I was pregnant I used to drink six to eight Diet Cokes a day. Now I drink six to eight bottles of water.
81. I hate water. Tasteless.
82. I love my knee-high black leather boots. I wear them every day in the fall and winter.
83. I love The Karate Kid.
84. Also love all sports movie where a kid from the wrong side of the tracks or a kid who needs some help gets a shot at fame through sport (or dancing) (Honey, Footloose, Rudy, Invincible).
85. Love Kevin Bacon (speaking of Footloose)
86. Love going to The Screening Room to see smaller, indie movies.
87. Kinsey was great.
88. Really liked Match Point - though a felt a little creeped out around the boyfriend when we got home that night.
89. Thought The Woodsman should be much darker.
90. First movie I ever saw with the boyfriend: Samsara (also at The Screening Room).
91. I'm a people-pleaser. I can't say no to anyone.
92. I want to eat a meatball sub before I die.
93. I signed an organ donor card this year because if someone else can be as happy as I am and as in love with another person and with life, then they can have my pancreas, kidneys or my heart if that's what they need.
94. Thanksgiving is my favourite holiday.
95. I loovvvvee instant stuffing - think Stove Top.
96. I love the the fair ride the Tilt-O-Whirl.
97. When I was a little girl, my parents would tell me to close the door or I'd let a draft in the house. I thought they were saying giraffe. I was sure I had a giraffe living in my backyard.
98. I want to see my name under contributors in a magazine one day.
99. I can't wait to wear my skinny jeans (size 10 is skinny for me) again. I'm aiming to lose the baby weight by Christmas day.
100. I think the baby is a boy. The boyfriend thinks it's a girl. Who will be right?....

There might be more(or not)

Sarah in Wonderland

I'm late! I'm late! For a very important date. No time to say "hello", "goodbye", I'm late. I'm late. I'm late.
I'm late and when I wave, I lose the time I save.
My fuzzy ears and whiskers took me too much time to shave.
OK, this is no time to talk about my always frustrating three chin hairs. This is just to let you know that I am ONE teeny tiny day away from my baby's alledged, supposed, apparent, scheduled birth date and I can tell you right now folks, it ain't happening. I'm going to be late.
I feel nothing. No Braxton-Hicks. No waters breaking. No tight tummy (well, a full tummy from eating too much French toast this morning) but I feel no signs that I'm about to give birth to a baby. On Thursday at 8:30 a.m., there were some signs that the baby could be on its way ... um, intimate signs that I won't go into here, but then nothing followed. So now I wait. And accept that I'm late. This pic was taken Friday night after we took the kiddies to see Invincible with Marky Mark Wahlberg at about midnight. I look pretty - pretty big - however I still feel oh so pretty. Anyway. Today we're going mini golfing. Them the plans. Stay tuned ...

There might be more(or not)

Urgent - big news!

Well, it's finally time to share my news!
Ha ha. Just joking. Made you look. Oh, I'm evil.

There might be more(or not)

My dad the hipster

One cute thing to tell you: My father has coined a new term of endearment: Smother Mother.
The word describes my mother (and all other soon-to-be-grandmothers) who go all, shall we say Tom Cruise?, when their daughters are about to have a baby. They visit often. Call every hour on the hour. Clip diaper coupons at a feverish pace.
Example: "My mother called me 17 times yesterday. She's such a smother mother."
And just when did my dad come up with this new word? Today at lunch after my mother made him do the two-hour drive from their home to mine because she wanted to see me again before I went into labour (even though she just saw me on Sunday ....). Please note that this is a term of love and may only be used as such.

There might be more(or not)

Risky Business this falling in love stuff

The big news right now in the pop culture world is that Mr. Toothy Grin, a.k.a. Mr. Holmes, a.k.a. Mr. Suri Daddy, is being dropped by his studio Paramount Pictures.
Sumner Redstone, whose company, Viacom Inc., owns Paramount, is quoted in the Associated Press saying the studio is cutting ties with Tom Cruise because "his recent conduct has not been acceptable to Paramount."
Of course, Tommy's people simply said talks broke down. This past year, Tom has come under fire for his wacky behaviour. You can't read a single Star, US, Hello! or In Touch without being hit by some sort of story about how he's kidnapped the doe-eyed Dawson's Creek star and locked her in his compound, or their baby, Suri, is actually dead, or she's been handed over to the Church of Scientology to be the next leader of the free world.
No, Tom Cruise shouldn't have chided Brooke Shields for using medication to help her through postpartum depression. (Until he drops a mucuous plug and deals with the possibility of stitches in his hoo-ha from pushing out a seven-pound bundle of bones while his hormones are going crazy and his boobies are sagging to his bellybutton, he can keep his views on post-partum depression to himself).
And no, he shouldn't have left his sweetie and their newborn to travel the world to promote M:I3. And the Scientology stuff just seems to freak people out. But there is one thing this guy takes so much heat for that I don't really understand: So what if he jumped on Oprah's canary-yellow couch and sang about how he was madly in love with Katie Holmes? Everyone cites that incident as they day he went wack-o-la.
I think us women who diss him for that are a little hypocritical don't you? Are we the same ladies who bitch nonstop about how our men don't do enough PDAs? Aren't we the women who want grand displays of love like roses at work just cause we're special? Balloons when we do good? Hunks o' diamond and gold to mark when we make it to a milestone? The best example of over-the-top affection is in one of my favourite movies, John Cusack's Say Anything. The dude stands outside his lova's window with a honkin' ghetto blaster over his head blasting Peter Gabriel's In Your Eyes and we all shriek with glee. In Sex and the City, Mr. Big runs from NYC to Paris to save Carrie from Mr. Ballet Baryshnikov and we cry. In the teen fave A Walk to Remember, Mandy Moore's character falls in love with the school's Hottie McHot Hot Hot when he takes her to the state border so that she can realize her sugary sweet (and dying) dream of being in two places at once. Oh how sweet!
Regular Joes propose at basketball games on the big screen. They pop the question in smoke messages in the sky. They get down on one knee on daytime talk shows. So what, I ask you, is wrong with a little couch jumping?
Which is it: Do we want our men to be all chill or do we want them bursting with passion and enthusiasm for us?
Tom Cruise had you at hello but now he's moved on. So, maybe this is all a simple case of you criticize those who couch jump because no one's couch jumping over you.

There might be more(or not)

9 months pregnant=hungry

The remnants of my rib dinner Wednesday night, August 23, four days before baby is due.
And here is the rest of it.

There might be more(or not)

Yes, Jason. Junior Dolly Parton is Back.

Natalie was the very first girl to get boobies in elementary school.
She got them in Grade 3 and yes, they were quite ample.
At that time, all girls were reading Are You There God, It's Me Margaret? by Judy Blume. Like Margaret, my friends and I all wanted to ditch our girl bodies and trade them in for woman bodies.
At the time, that's what I thought I wanted.
(Rest of this post is Rated 14A - proceed with caution to see them)

But I soon became the second girl to get breasts. And it sucked. Sucked the big time.
I was a running girl in elementary school. I ran cross country and track. No, I was never going to be great, but I loved running - until I got these massive bags that flopped around my chest. Instead of being able to run freely, I was insecure, knowing that all the boys were looking at my big boobies bouncing around.
At the time, I thought I developed a good system to hide the baboom! baboom! baboom! I ran pulling out my T-shirt from my chest with one arm, while the other arm pumped me along the track. Of course, looking back on this now, I realize that was only drawing more attention to myself but I thought it would hide the thump, thump, thump.
The boobs were still a fascination with the boys by the time I reached Grade 7 and 8, even though every girl had them by then. And even though girls sexualize themselves in their early teens, no one wants that much attention. I remember walking down the hallway in school and one guy, a jerk named Jason, saying, "What's up RB?"
It took me a long time to get my friends to tell me that the nickname meant Road Block - apparently my breasts could stop traffic.
Around the same time, Jason and his friends would prank call my home and say "Hey Junior Dolly Parton!" burst out laughing, and then hang up. The joke should have become old after just a few times but it hurt my feelings every time.
Now, I see girls, little girls, vamping themselves up with their little chests on display and I don't understand. Do they really want boys and men staring at their developing little bodies, or are they intentionally putting themselves on display because they're insecure - but this way they can pretend they're not?
My chest has stayed ample, and over my teens and 20s, I learned to love my curves. It's true that a girl with some breasts and booty fill out dresses better. But it's also true that a girl with smaller breasts can wear more styles of shirts. She can wear blouses without the buttons popping. She can wear snug sweaters without looking like she's draped mountains in cashmere. She can wear sheaths and shrugs and tanktops and turtlenecks and people see the whole outfit, not just the bazoongas.
Prepregnancy, I lost a lot of weight, and dropped from 178 to around 140 pounds. By the time I got pregnant last December, my weight had hit 148 but I still felt slim and trim and yes, dare I say it, hot.
But now, with 26 extra pounds (and maybe more to come; I go to the doctor for a weigh-in in an hour and a half) I've got the big boobies back again. I've gone from a B cup to a D cup - and my milk hasn't even come in yet.
Last week I went nursing bra shopping and came home with a 40 D bra.
So it seems that this Junior Dolly Parton has grown into the real thing.
And while I'm not exactly happy about it, I'm learning (again) to live with my voluptuousness.
So to you small-chested girls: Enjoy your small, perky boobies.
And to all you Jasons (both young and old) out there: Look but don't comment.
As my best girlfriend once said: Imagine what the world would be like if all men had to wear their packages cupped in spandex every day and their size was on display?
Road block or speed bump?

There might be more(or not)

Hold on Kingston. I'm coming!

OK people here's the deal: Everyone cross your fingers I don't give birth in the next 24 hours. We're four hours from Kingston, visiting the boyfriend's father who's celebrating his 80th birthday. And while I'm sure it would be an adventure to have a baby in a random city, I'd like to save that fun for the second baby, OK?
In other baby news: My ankles now match my boobies. BIG. TOO BIG. Stripperama size. But more on that when I'm back at home.

There might be more(or not)

Sex-guess cinema

So you're having trouble guessing baby's sex based on one little picture? I'm making it easier with this sweet piece of tummy cinema. Watch the video, then cast your ballot for baby's gender. Won't be long before we all know.

There might be more(or not)

Breaking News

I just returned from a doctor's appointment: Monday at 1:54 p.m.
Since my last appointment on Thursday, this kid has dropped and is "engaged" and ready to go. Maybe I should actually pack that hospital bag ... Have to go and phone my family. Isn't it nice I told you first?

There might be more(or not)

And what did you accomplish today?

There's a half-eaten carrot and pineapple cake in my fridge that's swaddled in a cream-cheese frosting. Soon, either today or tomorrow, the rest of the two-tiered cake is going to have to be thrown out and that's going to make me a little sad.
The cake, which threw me into a state at the grocery store because the recipe called for confectioners sugar and I didn't know that that is the same thing as icing sugar, (which my mother found unacceptable for a 29-year-old) – is pretty much my greatest achievement from the past two weeks.
I have been on vacation since the beginning of August, waiting for my baby to arrive. I thought it would be a smart decision to put my feet up and kick back for a few weeks before the baby came, so I stockpiled all my vacation time and took August off. It's turned out to be a challenging couple of weeks.
I'm a task person. I like to feel busy, crazy even, and, up until a couple of weeks ago when I was a newspaper editor, life was always busy, sometimes insane. I'd work long hours and after work, go grocery shopping, take pre-natal yoga, go to pre-natal classes, find a few hours to go see the partner's son's ball hockey game, etc, etc, etc.
Now, with no work, I don't have scheduling to thrive off of. There is plenty of time in the seven and a half hours that the boyfriend is at work to do the laundry,the dishes, the grocery shopping. Last week, I also went to our local recycling centre to drop off some cardboard and yard waste. Woo hoo.
Yes, I could put my feet up and watch TV, read or veg but then I'd have nothing to show for my day. Yesterday, I got a facial in the morning and a pedicure but I also balanced out my day by doing a little necessary shopping, refilling prescriptions, playing taxi driver and doing some dishes.
I think the tough thing about all of this is that I've gone from having a high profile job that required me to put out a 64-page magazine every week to being at home without much to do. I had a sad thrill when two people commented on just how clean my car was this week. I did, after all, spend more than an hour cleaning and Windexing it.
I guess the point is, right now, and in the year ahead, I have to find new purpose in my life. My reason for existing can't be that I write columns and publish our newspaper's entertainment magazine. Because now, there is a new editor and she's doing just fine without me. I know everyone is replaceable. I guess I just had a secret hope that I wouldn't be. But over the past 14 days, I've started to learn that my job, my newspaper, my magazine will, in fact, go on without me.
And I will have to go on without my deadlines, my column, my magazine, my work.
I know this isn't earth shattering. Women around the world struggle with finding balance in their lives between their work, home, children, husbands, partners, lovers, passions and hobbies.
But now, it's happening to me.

There might be more(or not)

Oh, the names I could add ...

One day this week, Dr. Phil was talking cheaters.
He said that fifty per cent of cheaters will cheat again.
Well, duh.
There's some rocket science for you.
Once a cheater always a cheater, right?
This week in People magazine, there's a story on a website
dontdatehimgirl.com that outs alleged cheaters.
For fun, I went to the site and, in the search engine, typed in "Kingston, Ontario." And looky looky – there are boys from Kingston/Gananoque on there. Now, if you're one of the men being scolded on the site for your alleged bad boy behaviour, you should check out the People story. One man in the United States, a Pittsburgh lawyer, is suing for defamation and seeking $50,000 US from the site's creator.
We the people at sarahcrosbie.com, which is me, Sarah Crosbie, have a suggestion for all you folks who've done the nasty. Call the guy or girl you've wronged and tell him or her - sincerely, of course - that you were a dink wad, you made a mistake, and you are truly, deeply, honestly sorry that you broke his or her heart.
Blondie said it best: Call me.

There might be more(or not)

Put a plug in it, Sarah

There are two things about pregnancy that scare my elastic-waist maternity pants right off me: the possibility of poo and the mucous plug.
Here's the sitch for you non-pregger people: When it's almost time for mommies to give birth to their bouncing bundles of joy, they lose their mucous plug, either in bits or in one chunk. And the poo, well, it's something Rachel Green never told you on that final season: there's a possibility you're going to have a bowel movement during labour.
But back to the plug.
Today, 19 days away from my due date, I've got things like mucous plugs on my mind.
I'm nervously awaiting for any small sign that this may be the time. To pass the hours, I am literally Suzie Homemaker Extraordinaire. I bake. I cook. I clean. I do laundry. Today, after doing a whites and colours, I was out in the backyard hanging my unmentionables, socks and cute oneses. But it's freakin' hot out and I'm a nine-month pregnant lady and let me tell you, it's a lot of work walking back and forth from the laundry basket to the end of the clothesline to hang yet another piece of clothing. So, today, I stuffed a handful of clothespins down the front of my shirt and draped all the wet clothes over my shoulder so that I could move down the line and not have to make repeated trips back to the clothes basket. Yes, I'm cute and smart.
Hours later, I had to hit the little girls' room and - could it be? - as I sat down on the toilet, I felt pieces, different pieces, fire out of me like a pinball machine's silver gumball, hit the toilet seat, and splash into the bowl.
I was a little confused but I assumed it must be the mucous plug falling apart. Labour is near! Baby is coming! I nervously looked into the toilet and yes, I was right. There were many things in that toiletbowel. Many clothespins. Five clothespins had found a home in the pocket of space between my ample baby bosom and my ample baby belly and when I sat down on the toilet, they'd slipped out from my shirt and plopped in the toilet.
Gives new meaning to nipple clamps, huh?

There might be more(or not)