Last Monday. Overdue and tired. Attended Easter dinner, exhausted and worn out. No sign of any nesting kicking in, just a strong desire to lie on the couch and watch endless amounts of television and eat leftover chocolate. Every kick and squirm had me reaching for the watch to see if they could possibly be contractions.
In the meantime, my four year old niece had a conversation with my Sister that sounded like this:
Sister: Your Aunt Theresa’s baby should be here any day now.
Katie: No, the baby isn’t coming until number 17.
Sister: I don’t know about that Katie, I think the baby will be here in a day or two.
Katie: Nope, not until number 17.
Fast forward two days, Wednesday the 16th. My contractions are finally real and close together. Getting ready to head to the hospital at 4pm, contractions are about 3 minutes apart. Looking forward to seeing the little guy. Hoping for a speedy delivery. My Sister, leaving her house to come to the hospital, had the following conversation with my niece:
Sister: It looks like Aunt Theresa’s baby is coming today after all.
Niece: No, he’s not coming until tomorrow. Not until number 17.
I blame my 33 hours of labour on my niece.