Yeah, I know.
I can’t believe I’m still pregnant, either.
Remember this?
I posted it over a week ago. So you may be wondering what’s going on.
In short: the due date that I originally calculated was the 17th (yesterday, and first babies are frequently late). But all along, we’ve been reaching developmental markers about a week early, so from the get-go we’ve been told that our more likely due date was the 10th, and that he’d probably arrive even earlier than that.
But now they’re saying, “Wow, looks like you were right about that due date all along!” (I know.)
Basically how these things work is that due dates are an imperfect science, and it matters less what day you have circled on the calendar than how the baby is doing. As long as he’s bopping along nicely (which means sufficient amniotic fluid, a placenta that’s still delivering nutrients efficiently, etc), there’s no reason to resort to induction (up until a certain point, of course, which I haven’t hit yet). I’m at the doctor every couple of days now, and no worries: all is fine.
Of course, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t also a little frustrating. I really did expect to have met our son by now, and weirdly enough feel physically better and less uncomfortable and achy and generally about-to-give-birth than I did a few weeks ago, which makes me feel like I am never, ever, evereverever going to get this show on the road. One thing that’s been tough is that I take a lot of pride in being flexible and easy to work with, so all this uncertainty has presented a challenge with regards to scheduling of work commitments…because things that I put on the calendar a month ago thinking I’d be well out of the hospital by now have had to be postponed, as I simply can’t say with any certainty whether I’ll be free tomorrow, or Monday, or whatever.
Most of all, though, it’s a little discouraging because even though I know that obviously this is totally not something within my control, I can’t help but feel like I’m letting my friends and family down a little bit with every single day that passes. Of course they’re not disappointed – just anxious, same as me – and I’m not doing anything wrong, but I am an emotional forty-million-weeks pregnant lady and somehow it sort of feels that way.
Anyway. I’m also enjoying these last few days (lots of Li-lac mint patties, old episodes of Nip/Tuck, and obsessive house-cleaning), so if this sounds like I’m boo-hooing, I’m not: as long as the baby is healthy, I’m happy.
And on the bright side: I haven’t even given birth yet, and I’m already getting a crash course in Chapter 1 of Parenting 101: You Can’t Control Everything.
