Irrational Hope

Way back in September, when I found out I was pregnant and calculated my due date to be May 30, 2014, I mentally changed the due date to the beginning of June.

I figured it would be better for my sanity if I just assumed this baby would come late.

You see, so far I have a flawless track record:

Aaron: due July 20th; arrived July 29th; 9 days late

Maxwell: due February 19th; arrived March 1st; 10 days late

Bradley: due September 17th; ultrasound adjusted to September 28th; arrived September 23rd; so 5 days early, but technically 6 days late

For months, I was content with the idea of an early June baby. I love the month of June! I love the numbers 1-5! It seemed like a perfect time to have a baby, and I was happy to wait for it.

But then my hips started disintegrating. And I couldn't roll over in bed. And every time I got out of bed, I hobbled around like an old lady. The baby's head started pushing against my bladder, and I found myself in the bathroom an unreasonable number of times. And if I didn't get in there soon enough, a wave of contractions began. I became grumpy, emotional, irrational.

And that is how, without so much as a backward look, I cast away all my good feelings about a June baby and planted all my hopes in May.

I now find myself fantasizing daily, hourly even, about going into labor:  

Wouldn't it be awesome if I was just standing in line here at the grocery store, and my water broke? A little embarrassing perhaps, but I'll take it.

[In the middle of the night]: Well, I'm not doing anything at the moment. It'd be a great time to meet this little guy!

I've had like five contractions in thirty minutes! True, they didn't feel like much, but this could just be the beginning . . . or I might just need to go to the bathroom.

May 12, 2014 . . . what a lovely sounding birthday. Let's see, it's 3:11. If my contractions begin now, I could easily have this baby here before midnight.

I'm beginning to drive myself completely batty. (And if I'm going batty, I don't know what I'm doing to poor Mike. It's hard to live with a batty pregnant lady.)

To counter this, I try and remind myself of all the reasons, I don't want this baby to come yet:

• My piano students are all ready for their recital . . . oh, wait, that happened on Saturday. In that case, I'm good to go! 
• My brother-in-law is getting married on Thursday. Of course I want to be there, but hey, they'll take pictures, right?
• The baby's clothes are all sitting, unfolded, in the dryer. But they are clean and therefore wearable.
• Our friends are still borrowing our bassinet. But their baby is 4.5 months old, and since they're moving later this month, we can pick it up anytime.
• Aaron is in school until June 3rd. But I'm sure I could get some friends or relatives to help with drop off/pick up.
• I haven't packed a bag for the hospital. But it's not like the hospital is two hours away. I can just send Mike home with a list. 
• I was going to make a canopy for the car seat. But really, why does it have to be done before the baby gets here?
• I don't want his birthday to be during the week of Mother's Day. Oh well, women have been sharing their day with birthdays for decades. His future wife won't mind, right?
• My house is a disaster. Well, since that's the norm, I probably won't be able to time this baby's arrival during the magical clean five minutes anyway.

The good news is, even if my wishes don't come true, this can't go on much longer than three weeks. And, even with disintegrating hips, three weeks isn't that long of a wait.

. . . but wouldn't it be funny and ironic and awesome if I posted this and then went into labor tonight?!

37 weeks and 3 days, but who's counting?