Today was an odd day for a few reasons. To recap:

1. After I woke up and went to the bathroom, I came back and saw a puddle in our bed, in the general vicinity of where my torso would have been just a few minutes before. It was small, but it was still sort of alarming in that “um, surely if my water broke, I would have noticed, right?” kind of way.

Upon closer inspection, there were signs of cat hair in the puddle. So no, my water didn’t break. It was just Teenie’s obsessive grooming of her winter coat finally catching up with her. Kind of a relief, but still, I hadn’t planned on doing laundry today. So much for that. At least she waited for me to get out of bed and leave the room before she barfed, I suppose that was courteous of her. I don’t even get upset when this kind of thing happens anymore, I just kind of shrug and figure that it’s good practice for when we have a baby in the house.

2. Around 1 a.m. last night (so, technically today), I decided to cut my own bangs. Don’t ask me why, they were just bugging me. About halfway through, I thought of some of the blogs I read and how other women have talked about doing things toward the end of their pregnancies that were totally out of character, which made them think that they had lost their damn minds, and it occurred to me that I was having my own little Crazy Moment. I guess I lucked out (the Hair Gods have smiled upon me), because my bangs look fine today. But I still don’t know what possessed me to try that, since I am not the type of person who should ever be trusted to cut her own hair. And I’m a little paranoid that my stylist is going to notice and comment on them the next time I see her.

3. When I went downstairs for the first time this morning, I saw that my amazing, wonderful, lovable husband had put together the baby’s changing table for me. I started it yesterday and got thoroughly frustrated and left it half-assembled in the dining room. I love that he finished it for me before I woke up, without me asking him to do it. (That doesn’t count toward the number of odd things that happened today, since he does random nice things for me all the time. I just thought it was worthy of a little blog shout-out. Gotta make the other ladies out there jealous, y’know how it is.)

4. I was supposed to have an OB appointment this afternoon, but when I called my old dermatologist’s office about the hives, they were like, “can you come in now? We can squeeze you in.” Right on. The dermatologist’s office is in the same building as my obstetrician, just two floors apart. So hey, why not? Two birds, one stone, etc.

The dermatologist diagnosed my hives as PUPPP, which is apparently a common pregnancy rash. Of course, for most normal pregnant women, the rash starts on the belly and then works its way down the legs. But not me! Oh no, for me it starts on my knees and is working its way up. Because, you know, apparently I like to do all things pregnancy-related completely ass-backwards. I lose weight when I should gain, my rashes spread in the wrong direction, whatever. She gave me a prescription and sent me happily on my way.

5. Because of the last-minute dermatologist appointment, I was about 45 minutes early for my obstetrician. I figured I’d be sitting there for a while, but they actually saw me early and had me out of there in no time. Very cool. It occurred to me, though, that it’s a very odd day when you drop your pants for the dermatologist (since the rash is on my legs), but not for the ob/gyn. (I’m not sure why she didn’t check me today to see if I’d dilated any more. But I was relieved, since having someone see how many fingers they can fit inside your cervix is not exactly the most pleasant sensation in the world.)

Because of my recurring tummy problems, I lost the two pounds that I had gained at my last appointment. It didn’t surprise me, but my OB is now alarmed enough that she brought up the subject of induction (which I tried to talk about last week, and she acted like I was insane). So, the verdict is that if Baby Girl hasn’t made an appearance on her own by January 29th – that’s two weeks from today, folks! – we’re going to induce.

It’s not really that early, since I’ll be in my 39th week then. In fact, it’s only a few days before my February 2nd due date, but my understanding is that under normal circumstances, induction would only be considered if I was more than a week past due. But as I have proven time and again – throughout my entire life as well as this pregnancy – I don’t do normal.

Dave asked if I was happy about the decision to induce, and I honestly am. I know, logically, that pregnancy can’t go on forever, but I’ve been feeling so horrible that it’s been hard to fathom any kind of end in sight. And the fact that my activity has been so restricted because of my energy level has made me feel pretty depressed – I want to get out and do more stuff, I just can’t. I know the risks of induction, but the idea of finally putting an end to my suffering is far more appealing. Of course, I made the mistake of saying to Dave that I’m happy because it feels like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, which made him snicker. Ok, fine. I suppose a light at the end of my birth canal is more appropriate. Ha.

6. Oh yeah, today is also the last day that I get to call myself 30. I turn 31 tomorrow. It’s funny, I’ve been so preoccupied with literal birth days (as in giving birth) that I’ve hardly thought about my own. I might’ve forgotten it altogether if Kris hadn’t emailed me a couple of weeks ago asking what I want to do to celebrate. To which I said: nothing, please. I might send Dave to fetch some nice take-out for dinner, but that’s enough. I did the big party thing last year, and 31 is not some major landmark number, so I’m fine with leaving it at that.

P.S. That subject line is a reference to some John Lennon song that my mom likes to quote/sing. Random, I know.