It’s my due date.  I’m not in labor, though it would be wonderful if I were and it was just painless.  I’ve determined that I am officially a pregnancy knowledge failure.  Don’t comfort me and my stupidity, I’m not too upset.  I have a large stack of books which told me all the symptoms to look for when my due date was coming near.  I had em all, some repeatedly.   An ‘average’ pregnancy is supposed to last 40 weeks.  At 35 weeks and two days I started having strong and regular contractions, although they were not painful.  These were identical to the contractions I began having with Max two days before he was born.  So, I freaked.  I tried to sit as still as possible until I was 37 weeks along so as to avoid having a tiny baby who might need to be hooked up to oxygen.  Low and behold, I have been having these fake, but strong, contractions for over four weeks now.  Once in awhile I time them, cause the books told me to. Nothing ever happens.

I’m sure I sound discouraged and miserable, but the very opposite is true.  Yes, I want to get the ball rolling and meet my daughter, but I am not suffering.  Last night I slept nine uninterrupted hours.  I am still able to move just fine.  I haven’t swollen up with fluid, as many pregnant women do.  I feel very lucky.

But now, it’s my due date.  The car is packed with a bag for Lucy, one for myself and Mr. Pilver, and Max has a bag full of toys he is bringing.  Max has requested to be at the big event and we’re going to let him come and test it out.  If he wants to leave, however, I am A-OK with that.  The delivery rooms at our hospital have televisions, so if he gets bored at least I can listen to iCarly in the background.

I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.  I was told if I was still pregnant at that point, they will schedule an induction instead of a follow-up appointment.  I’m torn about this.  I really do want to have her, but inductions seem to last forever and often end with c-sections.  If I am going to have a c-section I’d rather just have it now and not go through twenty-four hours of labor before having a doctor arrive at that decision.  Also, as painful as labor is (and it is, I’ve done it naturally) I would rather suffer the pain than have an epidural.  The concept of a needle being placed into my back while being hooked up to an IV is the closest thing to hell on earth I can imagine.  First off, I hate drugs.  I can’t do narcotics, they do not appeal to me.  I’m a claustrophobic control freak of not only my body but also my mind and being stoned and strapped to a bed sounds like a recipe for a full blown panic attack.  I don’t want to think about it anymore, even in my mind it makes my skin crawl.

It’s Thanksgiving in a couple weeks.  I have a shirt for Lucy that says something about it being her first Thanksgiving.  She’ll be here by then.  She’s gonna love the parade.

I will probably post pictures and talk about her until you are bored to death.  Though I am not sure I am going to announce her length and weight.  I think that’s a bizarre tradition.  Unless she’s over ten pounds or under six, she’ll be considered ‘normal’ and I’ll let you guess from the pictures how much she weighs.  Also, and this may sound REALLY cynical (and probably is), I cannot stand sitting around and having ten minute long conversations with other mothers about how tall, how heavy, and what percentile our kids are.  I remember with Max, who was a fat fat FAT baby having women judge me for his size as though I shoved Big Macs into his two week old mouth.

This will probably be my last post before giving birth.  I just don’t have much to write about as I have turned into a football watching eating-all-the-time sloth.  I have been asked by many people if I am going to ‘blog labor’.  Lord, I don’t know the answer to that question.  I may try it out, until in becomes too intense.  I may video the entire event and slap it online right away, but somehow I think that is unlikely.  I do know that I just want to have a little girl to hold.