May 8th. On all my calendars -- the electronic one used at work, the date book I carry around, and the one hanging on our refrigerator at home -- May 8th was THE day. On each one in the box under May 8th you can see "C-section" written in. Yep, today was the day I was supposed to be going in to have my baby. In fact, if my water hadn't broken prematurely, I'd be on my way right now. I was instructed to get there around 10:30 for my 11:30 C-section.
Instead, I'm lying on my couch with my feet elevated because 2 1/2 weeks later and my feet are still so swollen they look like they belong to one of the Flintstones. And while I lie here typing and reading, my little boy is downstairs with his daddy sleeping through a soccer game.