We have 11 days until our due date! Our midwife says she doesn't expect us to make it that long. I suspect she and I interpret that sentence very differently. She does not expect, based on the baby's position and the state of my cervix, that I will still be pregnant on March 7th. I am not above thinking that I may not "make it" in some more definite existential sense.
I spend a lot of time these days analyzing physical sensations. Is that labour? Is that labour, now? I even got excited about throwing up all my breakfast thinking, "That's got to be some sort of pre-labour sign." No, in fact, it's a sign that I threw up all my breakfast. Sigh.
Managing my expectations of this time is proving more difficult than I thought. On one hand, I am feeling pretty calm and together. I realize that if I went into labour without the fridge being perfectly stocked with groceries I could survive. I realize that I won't reach a point of emptying my to-do list and that it won't ultimately matter. I don't want to rush these last days and I don't want to miss being in the moment.
On the other hand, I am drinking raspberry leaf tea like it's going out of style (it helps focus those braxton hicks contractions). I walked to the midwife appointment yesterday thinking that could "kick start" my labour. I figured the worst that could happen was that I wouldn't make it all the way there. I am planning a walk to the health food store for primrose oil. Let's meet this baby!
I did have a moment or two of hesitation about my eagerness to begin the labour. Moments of "how in the world am I actually going to give birth." A fellow pregnant friend asked what pain medications I was considering. Since I'm planning to be at home that limits my options (severely). "Wow," she said, "You're brave." As you probably realized, she's a new friend, not well-acquainted with me or else she would know that I'm not the least bit brave. Naive, certain that my choice is the best starting place for my baby, well-read, blissfully ignorant - yes. Brave - no. Remember, the mantra is: If you can't be brave, at least be funny. We're going for funny.
And speaking of funny. Our little one has her own sense of fun. It involves contorting my belly. This used to be a game that we both really enjoyed. I would get excited by the movement. She, I can only guess from repetition, would get excited by moving. Now, the enjoyment is seeming to wane for the both of us. The belly doesn't accommodate fully stretched legs like it did before.
Here is the belly before the game:
Here is the belly during the game. Please note my upper right side.
This is as comfortable as you would imagine.