My mother is an expert worrier. Just last week, she went all the way from how I'm having an occasional uncomfortable contraction (okay, a dozen a day, but just uterus-freaking-out contractions, I can still carry on talking, plus nothing is happening, and hey, this is my third baby, I do know what something is happening feels like) to "You'll come visit and go into labor and then they'll do a C-section because they'll have NO medical history on you!" ("The fuck they will; I'd sue their asses into next year. Plus, they could CALL the person ON CALL like NORMAL humans, Mom.")
I try very hard not to worry irrationally. Isn't there some human coping mechanism of willful disbelief, where you tell yourself to believe that bad things won't happen to you and your loved ones, because the constant contemplation of death and misery would make us all catatonic? Usually I'm pretty good about it.
The midwives are mildly concerned that a) no matter how they measure it, my uterus measures a couple centimeters behind, for the first time (a little outside error but not impossibly so) and b) I haven't gained any weight for a month. (I am now 34 weeks pregnant with a net gain of 9.4 pounds.... have I mentioned that pain makes me nauseous? Does it count if you lose weight but gain it back? Well.) I know that everything is probably fine. The baby is whomping the living daylights out of me right now. And yet, I'm still just a little concerned.
(I did NOT tell my mother.)