Most first timers are late... The baby will come when he's ready... Babies won't come out if you're anxious... (That last one really burns.) I've heard it all and let me tell you, none of it means squat when you're harboring an un-budging eight-pounder, a perilously expanding waistline, and a looming fear of induction. I'd love to say I'm doing a great job keeping The Freak at bay but please, you know me. Yesterday I felt him on my cervix and got excited (at least I assume that's what it was; it felt pushy and ouchy like when the doctor checks for dilation) but today, nothing. I've already hit the gym (two women actually applauded me) and did the 12-story climb. Next up: mopping the kitchen. Good. Times.
I'm bouncing on the ball, hula-hooping my hips, and generally driving my husband to distraction with my incessant fretting. I know worrying isn't helpful. I fully appreciate the fact that I should be enjoying these last few vomit-free days. Trust me, if I knew how to access the OFF button I totally would. How do you stop your brain when it's stuck on squirrelly? (I should probably warn you that at this point, any variation on "Just relax" might land you a pop in the snout.)