Packing... Schmacking...

I hate packing. It doesn't matter what for, I hate doing it. Vacations, moving, over night trips to the grandparents... whatever. I hate to pack. I'm a major procrastinator too. I will find a million other things to do, before I will actually get packed. So, packing my bags for the upcoming hospital stay has been no different. I keep telling myself, I'm going to know when I'm in labor, surely, as this will be my fifth rodeo, so I will have time to throw the necessities in before dashing to the van.

My doctor told me yesterday that the baby had dropped and its head is "right there." Those being his exact words, with eyes bugged out, as if even he couldn't believe just how low and "ready" this baby is to deliver. I had to clinch my teeth to keep "DUH!" from flying out of my mouth. After all, it is MY uterus this child is sharing, so I think I know just how "right there" his head is at this point. Hearing the doctor say, "You're sittin' on GO! Anytime now and you'll be heading on over!" as he left the exam room, was still not enough motivation for me to come home and get packed yesterday.

No, the motivation didn't hit until just a few moments ago when I had a flashback from a time last year when I experienced an unexpected hospital stay......

October, 2008: Her Highness had been ill for several days. She would perk up for a bit, then crash again, spiking fevers of 104. As the end of our puny week was drawing near, our wonderful pediatrician ordered some tests to be run, as well as an x-ray of her chest. Since we were waiting on the results of all the blood work that had been done, Bert and I asked if we could put a hold on the chest x-ray, since our insurance deductible was going to put us paying $300 out of pocket. Our dear pediatrician let us know that we could wait for the lab to call, but if all of those were negative, and she was still running fever the following day, she would have to put her foot down and insist we go ahead and get the x-rays, regardless of the 300 smack-a-roos.

Well, sure enough, the following day, Her Highness was the sickest she had been in her sweet little life, and all other tests were showing up fine. The x-ray showed a horrible case of pneumonia (Her Highness now refers to as "old-monia" since that was a long time ago), which landed us in the pediatric ward immediately. I somehow held it all together, making necessary phone calls to line up babysitters for the boys and such, until I called my parents. As soon as I heard my own Daddy's voice on the other end of the line, I lost it. Through my sobs, I told Daddy how sick that little girl was, that I was so scared, and could they please come down and take the boys for a few days. Of course that's just what they did. I have a wonderful family.

Later that evening, after we got settled into our little room, I sent Bert home to pack my over night bag. "Babe, make sure you get me a change of clothes, some undies, my toothbrush... you know, just the stuff I'll need in the morning." Bert returned, proud as punch, like a golden retriever playing fetch, waiting for me to say, "Good boy! Good boy!" and toss him a treat. In his hand was a Target bag. (Yes, the plastic kind you get at the check-out.) Its contents: one t-shirt, one pair of undies, one toothbrush, one stick of deodorant.

"Ummm, Bert. Where's the rest of my stuff?"
Annoyed, Bert replied, "I brought the stuff you asked for. Hey, I even remembered to grab your deodorant, and you didn't even mention that!"

Was I supposed to hang out in the hospital room in my t-shirt and panties? And how 'bout some toothpaste to go along with that brush! I do realize I walk around a little less kept than I once did, but some Covergirl and a hairbrush might not hurt either. As I showed the "luggage" and its contents to a dear friend who stopped by for a quick visit, we both had tears streaming down our cheeks from laughter.

Men.

So, it was this flashback that finally motivated me to pack. I can only imagine what all would get thrown into a Target bag this time. Or, not make it in, for that matter.

You hear that, baby #5?? You can come out now!