We celebrated my 2-year old's birthday yesterday. It wasn't her actual birthday, but most of the people we know work, so we set a weekend party. Birthdays have always mystified me a litte. The parties, anyway. When I was growing up, they were for friends and family. We had the choice of what Mom would make for dinner, what type of cake and ice cream we wanted (and that was the only time of year, other than holidays, when we had dessert) and we had people over for a party. Today sometimes, I see parents paying a huge amount for a party venue, or spending quite a bit for McDonalds or Pizza Hut or the pool to host the party. Fun, but is it neccessary? We had at least 16 people over, ranging in age from two months old (my neighbor and buddy from college and her baby) to over 65 (Grandpa). The kids took over the back yard (thank God multiple times for the glorious fall weather) and were quite enthusiastic about the rats. The adults staked claim to the couch and the teens managed to hang onto the edges, looking cool but still taking part. We had enough cake and just barely enough ice cream and everyone went home tired, full and happy, which means it was a successful party.
Then we went to church. It was a normal Mass, until after the Eucharist, when I started having the most intense Braxton-Hicks contractions I've ever felt. After about the third one, I sent Chalea back to catch our doctor's nurse, who goes to our church, to ask her to wait after the Mass was over. Her advice was to take a nap (I'd need the rest) and make sure my bags were completely packed. We both expected to see each other before morning. Here it is, morning, and I'm still at home. The contractions never intensified and faded for a while every time I changed position, so I figured they were false labor. Maybe it was the busy day. I'm still on high alert, though. I ought to call Mom too, because I'm sure she's been on high alert all night as well.