We’re now at D-Day + 1, which is not a thing I thought would happen. I mean, I’m aware that only about 5% of babies are born on their due date, so I wasn’t expecting to actually give birth ON SATURDAY. Maybe I was, subconsciously. I guess I thought I’d be early, if anything, right up until we got to the last week and there were no signs of
impending doom imminent labor.
40 weeks of pregnancy is a long time, guys. I still feel good – I haven’t reached get-this-baby-out-of-me levels of irritation, but now I’m playing a waiting game, and it’s not my favorite. Clearly this baby is a procrastinator, just like us.
Being late has started a few conversations with strangers. We went for a walk on the beach Saturday night and this older guy stopped and asked when we’re due. “Today” is not the response people expect. “Yesterday” isn’t either, judging by the reactions I got from the women in the nail salon today. (I felt I was safe to take the car and leave John at home long enough to get a manicure and get some groceries.)
My back ached for a little bit this evening, but I’d just been bending over, putting groceries away and taking cookies out of the oven (I want to bring some to the neighbors as a thank you and I’m planning on bribing nurses. No, I’m not nesting.), so it could have been that. It wasn’t accompanied by contractions. We’ll see how tonight goes.