Maternal Black Out

Crossing the 37 week mark in pregnancy numero dos made me realize...

I have no recollection of what happened last time from week 37 (essentially, the day I stopped slinging bras and fat pants at Motherhood Maternity) to week 40 day 2, when I awoke at that eerie 3am-ish moment to find myself in labor during an electrical storm. 

Oops, I lie... thanks to good ol' Spampylandia and a smattering of photos on Picasa I remember that I

• stopped working on July 2nd or 3rd and then had a bunch of out of town friends visit over the Independence Day long weekend
• sat and hand stitched the beginnings of a stuffed bunny for baby - the pieces of which are still in the sewing kit
• effectively freaked out a waitress at Olive Garden 
• ate a lot of Logan's Roadhouse

BUT WHAT ELSE WAS I DOING?  Three, or let's just say two to make it easy, whole weeks of what?  I know I went swimming in the apartment complex pool every few days, so it couldn't have been an alien abduction issue... or not entirely.  It's the solo female version of what I referred to yesterday... Maternal Black Out.  Heck, it might even be Prenatal Black Out.  But surely I was fretting and frothing about every little thing those 2-3 weeks, and now... now?  Yup.  I got nuthin'.  It's just gone.

So today, at 37 weeks 2 days, I head off to Family Beginnings Birth Center at Miami Valley Hospital to turn in my paperwork for the sepia toned zen labor (thanks, Shelly) and delivery of this second child, whose early pregnancy has been wiped into obscurity but whose emergence seems so very important and requisite of recollection. 

I often wonder how Michelle Duggar even remembers the names and birthdays of her 19+ children, much less any factoids or dreamy vignettes from their individual pregnancies. 

Guess the bottom line is:  I need my own TV show.