Friday, Workplace threw Wee Lee a shower and Wee Lee should know just how humbled his/her mother was by it all.

I'm a bit anti-social at work. I've got my head down for most of the day, and lately I've been orbiting away from my desk more and more because of the requisite needs to visit the loo and the kitchen eighty three times an hour. But I don't have much time to chit-chat with my co-workers who are, honestly, very smart people who dress in very sharp cardigan sweaters and crisp shirts, unlike Preggo McBeggo who is just trying not to reveal that her turtlenecks have all become crop tops. So it was rather humbling that all of my co-workers came out and bought the wee one such wonderful, thoughtful, useful gifts, and kept it all hush-hush and even brought in their fruit punch bowls from home and made that wonderful punch with the rainbow sherbet on top? I love that stuff.

Then, shortly after I had recovered from hyperventilating over all of the gifts, I started to get some Braxton-Hicks contractions, signaling false labor, I know I know I know, but they were constant for about half an hour and I felt this heavy pressure in my lower abdomen that was altogether new.

I tried to block out the pressure while I was driving home, because I was driving home, but I did call Lovey Loverpants to pack a bag just in case. Braxton Hicks persisted into the late evening, because evidently old Braxton thinks he's my homeboy. Thinks we're tight. Tight like a contracted uterus muscle. But eventually, after talking to m'doula MaVic, we figured I wasn't really going into labor. Braxton Hicks was just overstaying his welcome.

In addition to a packed bag, I also asked Lovey to leave the house for half an hour so I could, ahem, take care of some things, i.e. addressing the fact that I had not shaved my legs since September, which made for an interesting deforestation project considering the watermelon I am now carrying. Yes, to quote Jennifer Grey in "Dirty Dancing"...

I carried a watermelon.