Saturday, August 3.
Only one day past my due date, but I was getting antsy. I really wanted to have the baby soon, for many reasons: I was sick of being pregnant, I wanted to meet my son, and I wanted to give birth before my close friend, Margaret, went back to Denver. That was happening on Monday evening, so we were coming up on the deadline. Besides, I figured the weekend was the ideal time to have the baby so that my parents would be able to come down as well.
I was feeling a bit mopey and sorry for myself on Saturday morning, imagining how sad I would be if I stayed pregnant for another week. I didn’t want to indulge that mood any longer, so I strapped Addie into the stroller and took a two-mile walk, figuring that the sunshine and fresh air would lift my mood and hoping that the walk might start labor.
It definitely did lift my mood. We met up with David and had a nice family lunch. Afterwards we came home and he went to get a haircut. Addie and I were playing in the boy’s room – she loved going in there and pretending to be a baby – and just waiting for David to come home. I looked around my son’s room and watched my lovely daughter and meditated a bit. I envisioned going into labor that day, imagining what it would be like, how I would call my parents and Margaret, how I would have David already home with me. And I spoke out loud to the baby, telling him that I trusted him and would wait as long as he needed, but asked that – if he thought he was ready – could he please come today?
And then, suddenly, a contraction. Stronger than the Braxton Hicks I’d been having regularly for the last week. Not painful, not even intense, but definitely strong. It was 2:00 P.M. Continue reading