The Waiting Game

As you all have probably noted, I have not written lately, namely because of the numb inertia-turned-restlessness-turned-inertia that is called Waiting for Baby.  I was very convinced I would go into labour at 37 weeks exactly (today).  This hope and expectation was further encouraged by a Monday visit to meet the second midwife, who said I was 70% effaced and 2 cm dilated.  Yesterday I saw my normal midwife, who said I was not effaced, was 1-2 cm dilated, but that my cervix was nice and stretchy.  So she did a membrane sweep, but apart from making me feel crampy and desolate all day, this did nothing (so far).  This morning Kirk and Anja are at the spring church clean up (I didn't feel I'd be terribly useful, and I am tired of explaining I am three weeks away from my due date to old ladies who think I should be squired away at home), so I am going to go for an hour and a half walk with the dog and hopefully will exhaust myself into labour.   My midwife assures me this baby will not be bigger than Anja, however, at 37 weeks I am measuring 39.5.  I don't believe her.

This month, I gained 10 lbs from a nasty licorice habit.  I have surpassed the "normal" weight gain.  I know I have no one to blame but myself.  I could have only gained 25. 

Things strangers have said to me over the last week:

On getting out of the car:  "Wow."
On Anja running down the sidewalk ahead of me:  "Why don't you chase her?"
On seeing me walking in the park with Anja:  "Aren't you taking a big risk?" - to which I replied "What?"  "Well, aren't you about the go into labour?"  This kind soul than proceeded to say she remembered everyone stopping to talk to her about how big she was, to which I replied "Yes, and I can't wait for it to stop," to which she kept talking.  Meanwhile, I was treading very lightly to the car as I had to pee very badly and there was not washroom at the park, and I was convinced I was about to pee my pants.
One very nice lady:  "You look beautiful."  If they could only all be like that.




I have not been sleeping lately, between going to the bathroom once an hour and not being able to fall back asleep, only to finally fall asleep and have crazy dreams, like some crazy scientist injecting thalidomide into the baby, or having the baby and not being able to find him because the midwives had put him into an woodfired oven (I saw Yann Martel read and speak this week, which is probably where that came from). 

Speaking of Yann Martel, I have been further considering the PhD route.  The University of Ottawa has crazy funding for graduate students, so it could work, and over the past 6 months I've realized I am a very goal oriented person, and have been floundering with the meaning of my life for 5 years.  So, I am going to apply in February for the following September.  It is actually strangely flexible with having children, and, my god, do I miss thinking.  Yann Martel because I think his writing might be a cornerstone of any dissertation question I would choose.  Also, I am tired of being the "supporter to Kirk's medical career."

I have a friend who is a female colleague of Kirk's, and she says that all the other women are in awe that Kirk wants to take 6 months off with babe in hero-like status, and that his wife is "so lucky."  To which I say, I am very grateful Kirk is an excellent, truly smitten father, but his taking time off was not really my choice, and now I have to go back and teach the blessings of a comma for four months in order to accomodate, and pump, and leave a 6 month old baby. 

As you can tell, I am full of wildflowers and happy sunshine today.  Off to walk and get this baby out.

Recent photos: