To celebrate my birthday, my friends Morrighan and Katie treated me to a (much needed) pedicture yesterday afternoon. I was excited for three distinct reasons: (1) no one's feet needed a pedicure as badly as mine and I want my feet to be in tip-top shape for labor, (2) Since working from home each day, my Morrighan and Katie time is almost non-existent, so I needed to catch up with them, and (3) I had convinced myself that the pedicurist would hit just the right pressure points on my feet to send me directly to the hospital - which was conveniently right across the street.
Well, my feet are certainly in tip-top shape now, I got my Katie and Morrighan fix between our pedicures, Target stop, and dinner at Smokey Bones ... but the part about the pedicurist sending me into labor didn't happen. When I sat down for my appointment I directly asked her to press wherever she needed to press to get things moving. She smiled, laughed, nodded her head and said something I didn't understand ... and now I am pretty sure she didn't understand me, either. I brought it up several times through the appointment, but she never hit any pressure points. In fact, she barely massaged my feet at all. Perhaps I scared her and she wanted nothing to do with my going into labor.
Today is my actual birthday - the big 29. It goes without saying that going into labor today and finally meeting this precious baby girl would be the greatest birthday gift I could ever receive. Kevin gave Riley a pep-talk this morning, asking that she come today or tonight, so we shall see. Regardless, my hopes for becoming at mother at the age of 28 are now impossible. Oh well - 29 sounds like a great age to me.