***This is a vent. An unleashing of the flood gates. Maybe in releasing the floodgates I will finally *fully* go into labor.***

I appear to have lost my God. I've been praying, mentally calling, desperately seeking and the line appears to be dead. I think I've got a wrong number. Or he's got caller ID and is avoiding my calls.

I begged last week, "Please God, let's end this. Whatever it takes, let's get Tiny here and be done." At that point, my labor came to a screeching halt. Since then it's been stuck in a puttering car-dying while you are driving it kind of mode.

I'm having just enough contractions to physically, mentally and psychologically exhaust me. I've been walking around all weekend with that full-body tensed-up feeling that you get either just after running that 2K you really didn't prepare for or like Rob says "when you feel like you're going to puke but you never do". My mom says
, "maybe that feeling is impending labor".

I've eaten once in two or three days because the nausea is horrible – even with the phenergan. I've lost my mucous plug, which could either mean everything or absolutely nothing at all. I've had pink tinged mucous since then, which again could mean everything or absolutely nothing at all. (Sorry that's probably *way* too much info.)

I can't sleep, even *with* Ambien. I toss and turn, while I try and get away from the "feeling" (see 2 paragraphs up). I'm sure I kept Rob up all night.

I am a grumpy and generally horrible person to be around. Rob keeps begging me to go back to sleep. I don't even want to be in my own skin at this point.

I begged God four days ago, "Please!? Can't we end this?" I get that God doesn't always answer our prayers in the manner we would like. Really, I get it. But at the same time, I never really had him pegged as a sick and twisted kinda guy.

If Tiny isn't coming, FINE! But enough with the torture already.

I hereby wave the white flag in surrender.

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