Today is our official due date -- the one my doctor has clung to for the past however-many-months, dutifully hauling out his little drug-rep-supplied predictive wheel at every appointment, dialing, squinting, and then saying, "So...August first, then?"
To which I say, whatever. Isabelle was born two weeks early, and Ellie was a week late, so my faith in the power of due dates is less than absolute. On the other hand, when my doctor told me months ago -- months! -- that we would be inducing at 39 weeks, I took him at his word. Clearly, that was a newbie mistake that came back to bite me in the ass at my appointment last Monday, when, after a less-than-ideal non-stress test, and the news that, for the second time in three weeks, the baby was not measuring any bigger, we got on to the uncomfortable part of the exam, and then he cheerfully informed me that no, we would not be inducing the next morning -- come back in a week and let's see if things have progressed enough to induce NEXT Tuesday.
(For a variety of reasons, namely that Ellie had a very fast labor and Toyota Siennas do not come with a standard epidural option, we feel that induction is the way to go, at least for us.)
Needless to say, I was displeased. If Thomas Jefferson needs to bake a little longer, that is fine by me. I am well aware of the risks of inducing too early, and we are firm believers in playing things safe. But to be honest, I am really looking forward to giving birth in MY hospital, which is lovely and filled with pleasant people who bring me ice chips and drugs on demand, and they have, you know, MEDICAL TRAINING. My husband is a wonderful man and an excellent father and there's no one I'd rather have at my side during the birth of Our Third President. But I want him at my SIDE, not catching the baby. I suspect he feels the same way.
So, we are hoping to hang on a little longer. We are all anxious to meet this new person and call him or her by name. The girls give my stomach hugs and kisses every morning to greet the baby, and more at night so that he will sleep well, but they are feeling kind of impatient, especially since they get a sleepover at Grandma and Grandpa's when The Blessed Event occurs, which is even cooler than a new sibling.
Physically, I am feeling pretty good, but it is clear that I am coming unhinged, as evidenced by the fact that I drove past a vet's office the other day and saw a sign: "Free Kittens!"
I very nearly pulled in. I mean, what's one more cat? We're already covered in kitty fur, and could it really add that much chaos, considering we're having a baby someday, and heading back to school in a couple of weeks? Kittens are fun! We'd have one for each child! Per and Maya would have someone to play with! You can imagine that D was less than impressed with my reasoning. He feels that my judgment as of late may not be quite sound.
And he is probably right, because a few minutes ago the phone rang, and I plodded up the stairs to answer it, thinking, "Oh! Maybe they're calling to tell me that Thomas Jefferson is here! So exciting!" Who, exactly, I thought would be calling to notify me that I had given birth, I do not know. I would think that information would be delivered in person, or at the least, via Gorilla-gram.
See what I mean? We will keep you posted nonetheless.
