You know what 34 weeks of a relatively normal and uneventful pregnancy will do to you?

It can make you totally unprepared for when you start having contractions five to ten minutes apart as you drive home from the water park 45 miles away and the only other person in the vehicle is your six year old.

It’ll make you take note of each mile marker, just in case you have to call 911.

And even after you make it home and put your feet up, and the contractions finally space to 15 to 20 minutes apart you feel it’s necessary to call your OB.

Mr. DD fretted nervously and asked what me what I was going to do. I told him that if it got worse I would go to the hospital, they would give me some drugs, and then I’d come home the next day.

Talk about putting on a brave face and bullshitting.

Today will be a quiet day of activity for me, even though the kitchen floor crunches as I walk over it and the laundry has reached Everest proportions. I’d say it’s time to use up my house-keeping gift certificate (as well as temporarily hire their services over the next several weeks).

So while 34 weeks is pretty close to the end, I was also reminded that it’s still too damn early.