Well I did not go into labor.
It is not an exaggeration to say (well, maybe it is a little) that the majority of the people in my life were really, really worried about this. In fact, probably a little more worried than I thought any of them should be, though who am I to have qualms with that many people loving and caring about the well-being me of and the squirmy worm residing in my uterus?
Call it a mother’s instincts, or just the copious amounts of information I’ve absorbed these past several months, but I knew going into labor was unlikely. First? The squirmy worm part. My daughter continues to treat my insides as though it’s personal Dance Dance Revolution platform. By all accounts, when labor is near, the baby will chill the hell out. Our kid gets a taste of, as was the case yesterday, some almonds and she loses her little mind. At least I assume that’s what’s happening. I keep telling Scott that now that I’ve switched to a much stricter (in comparison), healthier diet, that I’m convinced she’s a health nut. However, it could be that she misses the tubs of Peanut Butter Fudge ice cream we used to have every day and is throwing a massive shit fit with each bite I take. Now it’s all coconut milk “ice cream” sandwiches and kale.
Tough, sister. Mama would like to be around to see you torture your own baby in utero should that be that your choice.
So the second reason I figured she wasn’t going anywhere: sister is still riding high. Oh, I am a ridiculous sight for sore or rested eyes. In addition to the lack of breathing, I now can’t sit on the couch and, say, lean over and grab the remote control. The position of this kid makes it impossible. There has been no dropping or lowering or anything that can be construed as that she’s looking to make an exit anytime soon.
Lastly, there’s been no pattern of contractions, and after my visit with my midwife today, we’re all feeling confident that she won’t be making any grand appearances – my doula thinks she’ll most likely be late. She mentioned eight days, to be exact, which means my daughter and my husband would share a birthday. Scott feels badly for her if this is the case, but it’s him I’ll feel for – it’ll be her birthday that takes center stage, I’m afraid.
Speaking of the midwife visit today, my Group B Strep test came back negative, which means I’m that much more in the clear of not needing any particular intervention once I do go into labor. Under my current care, needing an IV port didn’t make me nervous, but I’m happy not to have to deal with any of that for the moment.
We went over the game plan today with her, which was a little surreal. Admittedly, and this is for a post later this weekend, it’s very surreal because while I’m not plagued by fear and terror about labor and pain and all of that, it is crazy that barring any surprises, I’m going to be giving birth to a human being in two weeks or so. All of a sudden we’re talking about contractions and timing and water breaking and a real live baby. I mean, it’s a good thing we’re going to be bringing a baby home, otherwise the three Sophie the Giraffes we’ve got in the nursery right now are going to Glin, and those things are way too pricey to be given to our dog who won’t appreciate them whatsoever.
(I love those little French teethers. So adorable. So giraffe-y.)
All of my freaking out about being prepared and ready? Yeah. We’re done now. I mean, there are drapes to hang, and a few accessories to assemble, some pictures to hang, but yeah. Done. There isn’t much more for me to do at this point than to sit on my butt and relax and read. Which is what I wanted, of course. I’m trying to embrace it since it’ll be the last time in, well, ever, that I’ll have this sort of unfettered me time. When I’m not working, I’ll be spending the majority of my time in my new chair (when it gets here, which now is supposed to be Monday), reading and sleeping and watching all of the awful Bravo-produced television my heart desires. I can think of no better way to spend the next few weeks, except perhaps on a beach somewhere with plenty of cold beer.
Thankfully we’re heading to Puerta Vallarta at the end of the year for a few days so that’ll be a reality at some point in 2011. Just not at this point.
The other day I dug out a baby picture of myself, and once I get a picture of Scott as a baby, and then one of our baby when she gets here, I’ll frame them all together. It’s weird to look at it now, of course, as I wonder if my kid will look anything at all like me. I know it’s one of those ego things people who have kids go through. I can’t imagine you don’t want to be able to see bits and pieces of yourself in your baby. My sister and I most resemble our dad, though there are some small resemblances to my mother that I possess. Just the same, it’s JP who everyone says we most take after. It’s entirely possible that this kid will be a mirror image of her dad and not look a thing like me. Which is perfectly and absolutely fine, of course, but it might be fun if she, say, gets my nose.
I suppose in a just a couple of weeks, we’ll find out.
