"hospital?" "trash can."

20 million cyber hugs if you can guess what movie the title's from. If you can't, I'll explain my logic for the title. But this post needs to be quick. Hubby has the day off which means I have precious little time to do three things before Papa Bear awakes: 1.) steal his b-ball shorts, 2.) peruse the internet before its used solely for video games, and 3.) grab some Dunkin Donuts before he can say no.

Priority number 1 has been achieved so onto number 2: blogging and mindless internet surfing. Yesterday, I worked a short three hour shift, which is always preferred over the normal five hours-- lately grabbing a size medium from the bottom shelf has seemed more like an Olympic feat than a simple bend and snap. Three hours of folding, sizing, and pest controlling. Love bug season has arrived here on the Space Coast and they are ev-er-y-where. So my folding boards have been working double duty-- folding knits into perfect little presentations ...

and HOLY CRAP! My stroller just arrived!

and sweeping the little paired up nasties onto the floor where clients can step on them. Cruel? Nope. Everyone hates them. Hubby too.  As we were driving the other day, a whole swarm of the love bug couples landed on our car. He says to them, "Love Bugs, I do not love you." My thoughts exactly, even more so since my manager pulled a couple out of my hair the other day. Sick.

So the carnage ended at 6 and we headed to Holmes Regional Medical Center in Melbourne. The tour was scheduled for 7 and Hubby wanted plenty of time to well, time the drive, since we had no idea exactly where it was located. We don't usually worry about directions too much in this household since we've got our trusty old navigation app on our smartphones--seriously what a lifesaver, especially being new in the area. Hubby puts in our destination and away we go. About 30 minutes pass and soon we're going down streets I've never heard of. And the streets and neighborhoods are looking more and more ghetto. You can picture it--busted up cars on the lawns, overgrown bushes practically covering the houses, kids with no shirts on running down the middle of the road, some voluptuous ladies strutting on the corner. Yeah.  But Victoria--Hubby named the navigation's voice that--keeps telling us its only a couple minutes away and that we're almost there.

I started to get a wee bit nervous about this so-called "awesome" hospital I'd heard about it. I couldn't see a large building anywhere. Victoria says, "You have arrived at your destination." A dead-end. More like dead meat for these two white kids in a sketchy part of town. There were a few stares. I locked the doors. To ease the tension I said, "Hospital?" and pointed at a particularly (sad, but true) trashy house. Scott replies, "Trash can." It was the perfect scenario to use that line. We laughed and laughed and then got the heck out of there. It was not a place to dilly-dally.

So with our efforts to time the drive to the hospital shot, and after nearly being shot ourselves (not really mom) we pull into the hospital parking lot just in time for the tour. And I am happy to report it was a large building in a nice part of town. Unfortunately, we had no time to eat anything and so we guzzled down peanut m&ms to tie us over--Baby G went crazy.

I'm glad we did the tour. I think it eases a lot of the unknown worries about what it will be like to stay in a hospital and be a ... gulp ... patient. I've never had to stay in a hospital before. Never. In fact, its sort of been a kind of subconscious goal to steer clear of anything medical related. I've erred on the side of caution most my life. (Until about a year or so ago where I suddenly went skydiving and shark swimming and would jump into the pool without testing the water first--life on the edge.)

Something that really surprised me were all the safety precautions that the hospital has in place to keep your baby from being kidnapped or switched at birth. Are there really so many sickos and chesters out there that would come into the baby wing and steal one? I tell ya the nurse has me paranoid now. I'll be checking our ID bands nonstop. But it was reassuring to walk the halls of the Labor/Delivery wing and not hear screaming and moaning echoing from the rooms. I think I would have burst into tears. It was calm and quiet and nice. Not to mention, hubby was by my side, holding my hand, and kissing the top of my head every few minutes. He loves me. And I think he was realizing more and more the feats I am about to encounter. It made me feel so gushy and happy to have such a loving, caring stud muffin husband who gets my jokes and knows my thoughts.

Of course, we stopped by the nursery window and watched the three babies chilling in there. One had to have been maybe an hour old. I got so excited in that moment thinking that in just six weeks we'll have one of those. Six weeks! Then I thought, "Wow they're pretty big. How in the world is Baby G gonna come out!? Please let him be no more than 7 pounds."  So I'm all pumped to get the carseat installed and my hospital bag packed. And if its one thing I know to bring now, it's warm, comfy socks and a robe, because it was freezing in there. And DVDS. And food. And maybe some fruity, hippie, yoga chant music to eliminate the pain and help me envision rainbows so I can enjoy a natural birth (ha, yeah sure, I didn't believe that hoopla the moment I read it--its epidural all the way.)

With the tour over, Hubby and I booked it to a restaurant to induce our food coma. Hubby also spotted a Friendly's! We didn't think they existed anymore, so we made a U-turn at 60 mph and skidded into a spot at the front (not really mom). I ate a giant, three scoop, banana split sundae all by myself (really mom.)

And then the night was topped off by probably the most preposterous piece of pregnancy advice I've received yet: "Eat an entire box of Kraft macaroni and cheese with A-1 steak sauce. That'll get your labor started."  I nearly gagged all over his Friendly's apron. Ha. Men. Keep the Friendly advice to ice cream flavors.