Now I'm REALLY tired of false alarms.

One would think by the third non-induced delivery I'd know what was going on, right? But no. No dilation, Louie's still way up there, all the rest of the lines. Sigh. Almost an hour of continuous walking laps around the maternity floor didn't do much. I question my instincts on this and am tempted to hold off saying anything again until my water breaks. That's a strong statement considering they've had to do it in the hospital every time before.

The good points: I AM having contractions. They aren't Braxton-Hicks, so it's not my imagination. They just aren't doing much yet. And my beloved's utter complete interminable patience with the runs to the hospital is gratifying. He hasn't said it, but he will when he reads this: he'd rather make a dozen false-alarm runs to have the thirteenth be real than have no false alarms and an emergency home birth.
The friend who watched the kids this time said too that, barring something she absolutely had to do, they could come back when it was real. I take that to mean they behaved themselves, which is nice.

That's where we stand now, back to "normal" life waiting for something to happen. And I still have about 35 pounds tied to my abdomen.
Six more days, six days. I can make it. I think.