I’m due in 11 days. As in less than 2 weeks. As in I’m due next week.
All of the obsessive-compulsive, anxious, nervous bits I’ve put all of my energy into feeling will soon come to an end (but not until I meet my baby, who is hopefully healthy) and then I can start in on a new list of fears: parenthood, am I doing the right thing? And, his or her poop was this color today; is that normal?
The doctor I saw today congratulated me on making it 38.5 weeks. People ask if the pregnancy has flown. Well, it seems like a long time ago that I sat decorating our Christmas tree in our new house, that I wrote this post. Yet, the whole summer has sashayed by. I’m convinced summer does that all on its own, not only if you are pregnant. But my goodness, it’s August and Bub’s birthday is around the corner!
So anyway, today I am a fingertip dilated. What does this mean a friend asks? It means something is happening down there. At least I hope for it to so that I am not induced. I know it’s not so bad if I have to be (or so I’ve heard), but to have the drama and story to tell: Hey! My water broke! Hey, I need to get to the hospital ASAP! That would be waaay more fun, no?