Party Girl

Last night, our neighbors threw a party. Being new to the neighborhood, it seemed only polite to throw dietary caution to the wind. I cozied up to a cute little bowl of mustard cheese dip and watched the wine flow freely into everyone else. As the evening progressed, the neighborhood gossip escalated from the best dry cleaners in town to speculations about what the mysterious couple in the Cape Cod down the street are really up to. And still I ate from the bowl of mustard cheese dip.

All was well as Greg strolled and I waddled back home. Congratulating ourselves on staying out past midnight, we got into bed. Turns out that the problem with eating healthily throughout pregnancy is that, by the ninth month, the body loses its ability to process mustard cheese dip. The problem was compounded by the fact that the symptoms of not-processing-mustard-cheese-dip are remarkably similar to those that indicate that labor may be imminent. Which is further complicated by the fact that I’m not supposed to go into labor at all—I to have a c-section for medical reasons.

After thoroughly scouring Web MD and other conclusive sources provided by Google, we decided that a trip to the ER at 2:00 AM on a holiday weekend could be avoided. Nearly 24 hours later, we seem to have made the right decision—the kid hasn’t made an appearance and the symptoms have cleared. But my party days are definitely over.