I’m officially two days past due. And I’m not complaining. I’m just noting it for the record.
I’m perfectly content being past due. Part of it is that I’m mostly comfortable and it’s not ridiculously hot and muggy (and miserable) like it can be in D.C. this time of year. Another part of it is that I can no longer imagine myself “un-pregnant,” although I’m pretty sure I had a lot less cellulite. Being past due just makes me more curious as to when exactly we’re actually going to meet the crumb-cruncher.
I sort of wish we’d done a poll among family and friends. I would’ve already been out my money. I really thought Baby P was going to be right on time because 21 had already been a lucky number for me and his official due date was May 21. It never occurred to me that he might be early until two friends with due dates a week to a week and a half after mine had their babies before me. So, if I could resubmit my bid to my imaginary poll, I’m going to say that I think I’m going to go into labor on Thursday (the 27th) and yet-to-be-named Baby P will officially arrive on Friday.
And it’s not just because it’s my induction date, even though it is.
Remembering that the L&D nurse who ran the birthing crash course my husband and I took not too long ago had mentioned that the old wives’ tale about more babies being born during full moons was actually true, from her experience at least, I looked up the current moon phases. Wouldn’t you know it–the next full moon isn’t until Thursday, May 27.
Coincidence? Maybe. But I won’t be surprised if it’s not.
Of course, there’s an even better reason for Baby P to arrive Thursday or Friday: My husband will be out of his field exercise. He’s been so worried about missing the birth, so no doubt he will be racing up 95N at speeds I don’t even want to know about as soon as his team is released. (I’m just hoping he remembers to pack the car with all of his stuff before he goes tear-assing out of Fayetteville.)
Of course, my underdeveloped mommy instincts could be totally off and baby may decide to debut any time before now and then, even though I don’t think he will.
But at the very least, or shall I say latest, there’s a lot of comfort in knowing that whether its the full moon or the pitocin, Baby P will be here by Friday. (I still think he’s going to come on his own all the same.)
Now, the whole induction thing…
Unlike a number of women I know, I’m not against the idea of an induction. Judging from the number of sympathetic and empathetic notes and comments I’ve gotten from friends and family (and even strangers) as there’s still no news of Baby P’s arrival, being past due for most women is really sort of stressful. There’s the anxiousness, the exhaustion, the anticipation, the worry, the lost sense of control–and we haven’t even gotten to the physical discomforts that leave some women only able to sleep in a recliner. I guess that’s why the woman at the grocery checkout counter didn’t blink an eye when she asked me when I was due and I said yesterday and handed her a bottle of chardonnay to scan. (It was for my mom, I swear.)
But what’s sort of blown my mind about the whole thing is how early my doctor started talking about it. It was like May 1 and he was rattling on about how he doesn’t like his patients to go more than a week past their due dates (he might be a merciful man after all), so how did I feel about Friday, May 28 for an induction. Well, I was fine with it, if he didn’t mind giving up the start to a holiday weekend, and into my charts went the date May 28 with a big circle.
The other surprise (so far) about the induction process is that there’s not only a sort of reservation policy but a waiting list. Yes, that’s right. There’s someone who calls you–I’ll call her an induction hostess–and says that your doctor has submitted your paperwork for an induction, tells you where you are on the wait list (I’m #6), assures you that the list moves fast, and then gives you a rundown of when you need to show up at the hospital. I was expecting to be on a wait list for childcare but not to give birth.
But I guess that’s the way things get done and babies get born in DC.
Photo credit: NASA