Seriously, Universe, if you have something to say, just say it already.

On Monday, I got in my car and headed out to pick up my kids at camp. As I sat in the garage, I forwarded a text to Mr. WG highlighting the babysitter's availability for the week and asking him to choose an evening. Then I left.

About four minutes later, the car in front of me stopped abruptly, for no apparent reason. I slammed on the brakes and stopped. The car behind me hit me.

The car in front of me then made a u-turn and drove away. I sat very still, processing the fact that I had been hit from behind. I am, you may recall, nine months pregnant. Slowly, I pulled my car out of traffic and got out.

I walked over to the other car, the car that hit me, and a 17-year-old girl got out. "Why'd you stop?" she screeched.

"I stopped to avoid hitting the car in front of me," I said, hand on my large belly.

"I just got this effing car," she shouted.

"Is that your baby in the back?" I gestured to the 2-year-old sitting in a car seat.

"My baby brother," she said, barely glancing at him.

I called Mr. WG. He did not answer. I continued to call him every 15 seconds for the next 10 minutes or so until he did finally call me back and I could tell him that I had been rear-ended. In the meantime, I copied down the girl's insurance information. She didn't have her driver's license with her. She was extremely unconcerned about the fact that she had hit a pregnant woman, although the guy she had in the front passenger seat -- maybe 18 or so -- did ask if I was OK.

My most pressing concern was that I needed to pick up the kids at camp. Why it did not occur to me to ask someone else to do this is beyond me, but whatever.

When Mr. WG called, his most pressing concern was my health and safety. I kept telling him I was fine and repeating that I had to get the kids. He reminded me that I was pregnant. I allowed as that was true, but I still had to pick up the kids, and was there any other information I should get from this girl?

Eventually, I got back in the car and drove to camp, got my kids and the carpool kids, and drove home. I called the midwife and left a message for her. The instant I got home, I reminded Mr. WG that he had to take the girls for an eye exam. He left, somewhat reluctantly.

From the road, he called USAA and began reporting the claim. D. and J. decided to make life easy for me by screaming hysterically and wanting all kinds of things -- apple juice, ice cream, cereal, whatever. All things that required me to continually get up and get stuff.

USAA called to get my recorded statement.

Mr. WG texted to tell me that S. needs glasses.

My boys continued screaming.

The midwife didn't call back.

I paged the midwife.

Nothing.

I paged again.

Nothing.

I called. No answer. Repeat.

And then -- a phone call! Right as Mr. WG called to say he was on the way home, the midwife called.

After some conversation, we determined that she had received my pages but had not noticed her pager go off, and she was horrified to discover this. (The next morning she told me it had been on vibrate, and she is now obsessively checking it. Also, she gave me her schedule for the next few weeks and how to reach her in different places.) We also determined that since I could feel the baby, I had no spotting, no bruising, everything seemed fine, whatever, it had already been a few hours, that we could forgo the 5-hour monitoring the hospital would do.

Blah blah, ok, fine. I went to bed.

The next morning, we finished filing the insurance claim, and Mr. WG went to drop off the car and pick up the rental. He came home with a sedan. It seats five. We are a family of six. Soon to be seven. And we drive carpool. So this whole five-seater is slightly inconvenient, but we are managing. Not well, but we are managing.

And everyone I talk to has a story about a car crash in the ninth month that threw them into labor. And yet, here I am, still pregnant. Not in labor.

Thank God, nothing serious happened. But really, don't you think the universe could cut me a break now and then?