If you know me at all you know patience is not synonymous with anything relating to my temperament or attributes.
You also know I've got control issues.
These two things make the end of pregnancy a very stressful time in my life.
If I had the exact date the baby would be born I'd be a lot less stressed. Apparently, this isn't how childbirth works. Despite making it this far in pregnancy twice, I am blindsided by that harsh reality.
At just over 38 weeks pregnant, I know I have time. I'm not upset that the baby isn't out yet, but I am upset that nothing has changed to indicate labor will happen on its own eventually. Every week I go into my cervical checks with no expectations for change but the ever-so-slight hope that *something* has changed.
It doesn't. I cry in the car. I want to know what it's like to go into labor on my own and not need induced, but each week is like a nail in the coffin that almost ensures an eventual induction. I hate not knowing whether anything has changed, but then I hate knowing that it hasn't. After my appointment on Monday where there were, gasp, no changes, I was particularly upset. It probably didn't help matters that I was starving and my blood sugar was low, but I was really discouraged. So my new goal is to focus on the positives if for no other reason than to help make the waiting a little more bearable:
One way or another, there will be a baby on the way within the next 3 weeks.
This buys me more time for naps and okayish sleep at night.
More one on one time with Elden before his world is changed forever.
More time with Jon before our lives are immersed in the chaos that is a newborn and a toddler.
One less butt to change diapers.
Do me a favor when I start whining about not experiencing any changes: tell me you're sorry but leave it at that. If I drone on and on, remind me of one of the five things I mentioned above. In the meantime, I'll be here drowning my sorrows in cheesecake and pie and milkshakes and all the other horrible for me comfort foods I know and love.