Well, I’m still pregnant.
I’m still measuring two weeks behind, so I guess this baby is small and needs a little more time to cook. Hopefully not as long as Addie needed to cook… The midwives assure me that most moms don’t go as late with subsequent pregnancies as they did with their first, so I’m trying to stay positive.
At the same time, though, I’m begging this baby to come already, both because I really don’t want to be pregnant anymore (and I want to meet him) and because Margaret is leaving on Monday and I really want her here for the birth.
I’ve been walking as much as possible and spending a lot of time rocking on the birth ball, in hopes that it will get something started. But I’m face to face with the simple fact that you can’t hurry labor.
I’ve spent a lot of time mulling over it during the last week, and I think that – as much as it pisses me off – it’s one of the things that makes birth so magical. Because birth is one of the few things in our modern world that we can’t control.
We schedule our days, our weeks, our months and our years. We have clocks everywhere, calendars with our meetings and appointments and vacations lined up. We know when we’re waking up, when we’re eating, when we’re hanging out with friends. We know when school starts and when it ends, when we’ll be up for a promotion at work, when we need to go see the doctor.
But birth isn’t on a schedule. It’s considered totally normal to go into labor any time between 37 weeks and 42 weeks. That’s a FIVE-WEEK window people. In what other circumstance in life do we sit around waiting for something (especially something life-changing) for five weeks with absolutely no idea when it’s coming?
Maybe it’s no wonder that so many women want to schedule an induction or a c-section: just waiting around goes against everything we’re used to. It doesn’t jibe with our modern sensibilities. It doesn’t feel right.
But I trust my body. I know that labor will start when both the baby and I are ready to go, and that to force it to go any earlier wouldn’t be healthy. And so I wait, hoping that trusting my body won’t keep me pregnant for another two weeks.
Seriously, body. I do trust you, but I’m not so sure I could handle that.