According to the calendar, I am 39 weeks and 3 days pregnant today. And according to what I can interpret of my own body’s signals, I’m no more likely to give birth today or tomorrow or next Sunday (my due date) than I was last week or the week before. Despite my doctor having told me a month ago that the baby was RIGHT THERE and that there was no way I’d make it to my due date, here I am, still round, still waiting, and now on the verge of what I’ve heard other women before me refer to as the “Oh my god, what if the baby NEVER comes out” stage.
Obviously, intellectually, I know as well as everyone else does that the baby will eventually come out. (And judging by the way he squirms and struggles against my stretched stomach these days, I think he wants to come out but just doesn’t know how. (Move toward the exit, little baby! It’s right in front of you!)) And although I also know obviously and intellectually that in a normal, uncomplicated pregnancy like the one I’ve enjoyed the best thing is to just let nature take its course and allow everything labor- and birth-related to take place in its own good time, I also can’t help wanting to just get it out of the way and meet my son already.
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