Whenever I watch other people’s children, I’m a bit of a conniver. If I tell the child to do something and the angelic child refuses, it leaves you in a bit of a predicament. The adult loses face and the child wins—unless I want to resort to bodily force and tactics. So, I usually use the “I’ll-make-you-think-it-was-your-idea-in-the-first-place” tactic. You know what I’m talking about.

It’s the same scheme that my husband and friends use on me. (They thought I was unaware all this time.) Sometimes I am very godly and the rest of the time I’m that lady from The Taming of the Shrew. As my husband will tell you, nobody forces me to do anything.

How I roped myself into an induction tomorrow morning, though, I’ll never say. But overall, I think it’s the best choice given the whole picture. I’ve done my Google homework. I’m good with it, even if it’s not the way I planned it. Sometimes you just have to relax.

Which is exactly what I did during my non-stress test yesterday. I relaxed. I told the OB that I was having continuous contractions, and I got the “OK” that comes with a pat on the head. After I got all hooked up to the monitors, the printout showed my semi-respectable contractions at 2 – 3 minutes apart. I wish there was a Nausea-o-Meter too.

See? See! I told you! I wanted to tell Greg. I wanted to tell the doctor. I wanted to tell everyone in the world that it’s not all in my head. Continuous contractions: all day, every day. And now I had proof! Except nobody was there at the moment. I was by myself. My moment of justification, and there’s nobody there to see it.

And I forgot to save the paper.