Today is my due date!

(***photo above from 38 weeks. Today is 40, which is why I haven't gotten out of my robe yet and can't take a new photo...)

Hey guys, remember me? The girl who frantically wrote a five-page synopsis of her brand new blog ten days ago in order to launch it immediately because she was convinced she'd be having her child immediately thereafter? Yeah...I'm still pregnant.

Today is actually my due date, but I was getting prepared for an early arrival. I imagined my first post in Jewish Penicillin being one where I revealed our daughter's name and its meaning, and I imagined I'd have written it sometime last week. Looks like I was totally wrong, but besides a pretty terrible bout of acid reflux, "sausage fingers" as my cousin recently referred to them and a bit of unprecedented lethargy, I'm actually dealing with the delay pretty well.

They say that the last month of pregnancy is the most difficult, and I get where "they" are coming from: I'm huge, I waddle, it's effing hot outside and I'm two days away from needing a third set of maternity clothes because the only two things left that fit me resemble bed sheets. It makes sense to just want the baby out, so I've been trying to recall how badly I wanted the baby in before we got pregnant and soaking up the last moments of a time I was hoping for with all of my might just 9 months ago. We've had two false labor alarms in the past two weeks, and given my reactions to both of them (mild to moderate hysteria) I gather I must be doing a better job than I thought at "savoring" these last pregnant moments. 

The first scare happened at a routine doctors visit. I wasn't dilated (still am not), but I'd expressed to my OB/GYN that I was slightly concerned about our baby's movement. I know that as babies get bigger (and I'm told she is BIG) that there's less room to move around in the womb, but I wanted to be absolutely sure there wasn't anything wrong since I'd noticed a bit of a decrease in kicks from our previously more spastic fetus. He put me on a monitor for 30 minutes and the baby did great for the first 25. Then, I had a three minute long contraction and her heart rate dropped to 90 (it usually hovers around 150) and climbed right back up again after. The doctor immediately knew who to blame:

"That must be her Rose blood," he commented, noting my husband's tendency toward rebellion and mine toward whatever the opposite of rebellion is. "Unfortunately, I can't let you go home with that three minute drop on the monitor. I have to send you upstairs so we can keep monitoring you for about two more hours and be sure it doesn't happen again."

"What if it does happen again?" I asked, convinced it would.

"Then it's time for this baby to come out."

I went right into the elevator to the 11th floor and started sobbing. 

The 11th floor of my hospital is where one goes if they think they might be in labor. I was re-attached to the monitors and couldn't get myself to stop crying. I had nurses giving me hugs, consoling me and telling me everything would be fine with the baby. It only made me cry harder because no one had any idea why I was actually crying. Finally, Ben arrived in my room with a huge smile and my hospital bag.

"Let's do this! I'm going to be a Dad! You're going to be a mom!" he said, excitedly.

"No!" I said, snot all over my face. "I'm not ready!" I hugged him and immediately transferred all the goo on my face to his freshly dry cleaned shirt.

"I need one more date night, one more night at home with you and Hampton," I wailed. "I should have spent more time with Hampton! And I want to watch Bill Maher one more time without having to breast feed during it!" I continued, pretty incomprehensibly. Ben made that face where he really wants to tell me everything's okay but can't exactly understand the words that are coming out of my mouth well enough to offer feedback.

Over the next two hours I began to relax and finally the nurses told me everything was fine and that we could go home. I left with a list of things to do before the real deal:

  1. Play with my dog
  2. Watch a lot of Bill Maher with Ben/go on more dates
  3. Finish up some lingering work and a few projects (hello, Jewish Penicillin.)

I was scare-free until yesterday when I was getting a pedicure with my friend and thought my water might have broken. "It's that, or I just peed in my pants again," I told her. One trip to the 11th floor later and it was confirmed that my second guess was right: water is still in tact, I just need to strongly consider switching to Depends for however much longer this child takes to join us.

In all seriousness, since my doctor says there's a large possibility the baby won't be coming today, I've decided to soak in all the Hampton time I can, watch Bill Maher re-runs with Ben tonight and scare the sh*t out of anyone who asks me when my due date is today by responding "TODAY!" (You would be amazed at the look of terror on someone's face when you reveal the possibility that you might go into labor in their very midst, or even worse, in a building for which they pay insurance.) I'm still enjoying these moments with just Ben and our furry child, but I feel much differently than I did a few weeks ago. In fact, I'm really, really excited: any day now, we're having a baby!