Youth? Really?

Being a young mom, people love to herald the fact of my youth. Sometimes it's a negative intonation to my age, othertimes they like to attribute many positive things to it. So as I'm a day overdue so far, and bending over to pick things up off the floor in hopes that the uncomfortable feeling it induces in the shreds and shards of whats left of my muscles will some how provoke the much anticipated labor to start, I think, fuck those people who say it's easy cause I'm young. I don't care the age of the mama cow in waiting. It still is not fun to have to wait and wait and wait in suspended uncomfort for the rest of goodness knows how long of a time before the baby comes. And then there's the whole matter of peeing. In my pants. Ok, youth aint helping this department at all. As I take off my slighly already damp undies to replace with a much better fresh pair, I feel the knowing dribble as I struggle past my awakward basketball shaped middle to put on the pants. Damn, youth aint helping me when all I want to be is fresh- the pregnancy overrules everything. And this is how I am equal to all other mothers. Our united front is the peeing problems that a nine month incubation brings on, the struggles of having to wait for our body to DO something regardless of what our mind says it wants... and the lugging around of and anticipation of an afternoon of nothing to entertain two already wanting minds. Blah