Tomorrow marks the official day of being 40 weeks pregnant, i.e., the magic "due date." I keep telling myself babies can't read calendars and that I need to be patient. Half the time when I call people, the first thing they ask is if there is a baby yet. "No," I sigh. Or they call me. Don't get me wrong--I appreciate the concern these calls exhibit. It just reminds me how frustrated I am.
I was spoiled the last two times with the baby coming at least a little early. My greatest "joy" lately is sciatica. The pain is one thing, but it really worries me when I set down my right leg and it collapses beneath me. Luckily, Ben was able to come with me to my doctor appointment this morning and let me lean on him as we walked, thereby enabling me to limp instead of shuffle.
I have had tons of minor contractions. I'm already dilated to a 3.5! No wonder my official labor goes so fast. In the past, when I have had a day of Braxton-Hicks contractions every 10-15 minutes, we go somewhere like the zoo to try and walk a lot. It usually works to trigger labor. Not an option today, though.
I am grateful, though, for the general ease of my pregnancies and deliveries. I was reading a blog by my niece today about all her pregnancy issues past and present, and it was a good exercise in perspective. I am so impressed that she chose to be pregnant again given the complications of her first time around. I have several of my other friends who can bless modern medicine for their lives and the lives of their babies. Really, I shouldn't complain about a few weeks of pain.
As Ben says: "There's a reason it's called delivery." The mother is not just delivered of the baby--she is delivered of all the pain and problems of pregnancy. (Of course, the nursing body can be almost as weird, but that's for another day.)
3 hours ago