Ok people. Prepare yourselves for a really weird story. I mean REALLY weird.
For the past few days I've noticed a change in fetal movement. And by change in fetal movement I mean the baby hasn't been trying to claw and kick her way through my belly button 23 hours a day and rocking my insides with a fun little case of the hiccups for the other hour.
Since Friday morning I have only felt her move a few times, despite pulling out all of my old tricks (holding an ice cube tray against my stomach and eating a pound of Jelly Bellies). Nick and I were timing the kicks yesterday morning and we only got one or two in an hour and a half.
I debated for a long time about calling J.T. my trusty OB but I felt guilty about paging him on a Sunday in case nothing was wrong so we decided to forge ahead to a birthday party at Monkey Joe's.
Before the birthday party, though, Nick of course had to stop at 7-Eleven for his daily Double Gulp. And when I say daily, I mean DAILY. He drinks a DOUBLE GULP of Diet Dr. Pepper EVERY SINGLE DAY.
In fact, the owner/cashier of the 7-Eleven told Nick that he was sent to him from God because he doesn't have health insurance and since Nick goes in there every single morning he can give him medical advice. Which apparently once included examining some hideous lump on his neck.
He's fair, though - in exchange for free medical advice he gives Nick free Double Gulps.
Ok, somehow this got off on a tangent.
So anyhoo, there I am waiting with Ellie in the car while Nick is getting his daily Double Gulp and probably performing some sort of rectal exam behind the cash register when I decide to check my phone for messages.
Sometimes when I put my Blackberry in my purse and don't lock the keyboard I'll pull it out and there will be a bunch of random numbers and letters on the screen because the stuff in my purse will push some of the buttons. Which is what happened yesterday morning. Some random numbers had been pushed and when I looked at the phone I stared at them for a second because they looked familiar.
Then it occurred to me - that is my doctor's number. All seven digits. I know it by heart because I used to call them almost every day when I was pregnant with Ellie.
And I know what you're thinking because at first I thought the same thing and no, I don't have it pre-programmed into my phone and no, I haven't called the office from my cell phone in months. My purse just randomly pushed those numbers.
At that moment I knew for sure something was really wrong and that God, or the universe, or SOMETHING wanted me to call J.T.
So Nick comes back to the car and I'm like "dude - mini Jesus is in my purse and he wants us to call J.T." and he's like "hold on just a second - I'm going to need to take a sip from this Double Gulp for this."
I mean, I'm a pretty big skeptic when it comes to stuff like this. Sure, I believe in ghosts, witches, demons, zombies, leprechauns, karma, fairies, phantoms, shadow people, God, Allah, Buddha, reincarnation, Eskimos, vampires, voo doo, werewolves, angels, swamp things, Canadians and all forms of superstition in general (like most people) but this is weird, right?
So without further delay I paged J.T. and told him what was going on (minus the part about mini Jesus in my purse - I didn't want to sound like a crazy person or anything) and so we went to the hospital to get monitored.
Things looked ok but I was having a ton of contractions and at my follow-up appointment this morning he decided to do an ultrasound and found that my fluid was extremely low. I'm sitting on the couch right now on my 5 millionth bottle of water and if it's not higher by tomorrow at 11:30 then it's baby time.
Baby time is a little like Hammer Time, just without the parachute pants and funky dance moves.
I keep checking my Blackberry because I'm hoping the next number mini Jesus wants me to call is DQ.
So there you go. That's your weird story for the day and a nice little tale if you believe in God, angels, cosmic signs, random probability or mini Jesus living in purses.