A Baby Story

Every mom has her own story for how it happened. Water broke in the grocery store…contractions started at the movie theater…had a scheduled induction…ate some spicy food…you’ve heard them.

But where’s MY story?

Here it is, up to this point…

The facts: I’m actually only 38 weeks pregnant. The baby is finished cooking, but Mommy is just the most uncomfortable she’s ever been in her life. Technically, I’m not due until August 5th.

All of this was absolutely FINE with me until I visited the mean doctor (when mine was outta town) who made me absolutely panic that my child was gonna be born the appropriate size to try out for the Lakers. Then this doctor ordered the ultrasound that confirmed it…at 36 weeks, Harrison was already 7 lbs. 11 oz. And the biggest thing about him? His head.

Sweet.

So I was in a bit of a panic. August 5th was PERFECT – I had things to accomplish up until August 4th, anyway. Then, I could have the baby, do some bonding, and be back on campus by the second week of September.

Then, between mean-doctor-who-is-not-my-doctor and always-accurate ultrasound technician, I was given notice that induction may be necessary. And I got excited about THAT.

NOW, after my appointment yesterday, my real doctor (the one who never panics, is always calm, and actually has enough sense to not make me cry without good reason) tells me that Harrison has slowed down, and we are measuring right at 38 weeks…right where we should be.

Blood pressure? Perfect. Urine samples? Beautiful. They could hang me in the Smithsonian as the Ideal Example of a Pregnant Woman. I should be so happy.

Insert inappropriate language here.

Do y’all have any idea how difficult it is to switch gears like this? I thought I’d be preparing to leave the hospital this morning. But NOPE – I’m drinking my one daily-allotted cup of coffee and pondering the likelihood of my Clorox bleach pen being too harsh on my wooden bookcases.

To top it off, I don’t even get to see my own doctor for next week’s appointment. What kind of a system makes a 9-months pregnant woman do the doctor shuffle?

I am willing to bet that Tori Spelling and Heidi Klum got to see their very OWN doctors all the way through. I bet no one ever looked Madonna in the eye and said, “We’re sorry, ma’am, but Dr. XYZ is going surfing next week. You’ll be seeing Dr. Unkown instead.”

It must be awesome to have such a wealthy uterus.

So now I’m in the process of soliciting advice from other moms about how to make the baby come on out. I’ve tried spicy food, power walking, nesting, driving over bumpy roads…but today, I’m pulling out the big guns.

First, I’m going to pretend like I’m on vacation. Like I don’t really care about any of this. I’m going to the pool, reading something unrelated to work or school, eating a Popsicle, and catching up on celebrity gossip. Nothing like a little ambivalence to make a child act out, right? THEN, I’m having eggplant parmigiana for dinner. Not just any eggplant parmigiana – THIS one.

If you have more advice, I’m all ears. And stay tuned…the story’s just beginning.