Well, I’ve given in and drank a cup of coffee filled to the brim with cream and brown sugar. A moment of weakness and my first foray into becoming that lacklustre mama I’m built to be.IMG_0296

I’m bored, dear readers. On Tuesday my OBGYN told me I was one centimeter dilated, and of course over-zealous me got very excited and every movement or contraction I felt lit my brain up with “This is it! This is it,” thoughts. But now it’s Saturday and I’m beginning to feel a little silly. It is in actuality still early, and my due date isn’t until August 10th. So, I’m doing it to myself chomping at the bit here for this baby to be born. I really want to meet my damn kid already. Here’s my question, if most first babies are born six days after their scheduled due dates, then why check my cervix anyway? Why tell a horribly miserable nine month pregnant in July swollen and sweaty woman she’s one centimeter dilated and that her cervix is softening? Was this a cruel joke for someone else’s enjoyment and my personal torment? What did I do to you Mrs. OBGYN? Too many liquid-lacking pee samples? Well, I apologize I’m a nervous pee-er. The point I take issue with is that I let myself get excited before I slowed down to think and do some research. When I thought I was losing my “mucus plug” I was really just seeing the results of having an internal exam. When I thought my contractions were leading me into possible pre-labour, I didn’t realise my uterus was just all about practice and in other words just a dramatic bitch. And, maybe I’d be okay with waiting for this to happen naturally if I didn’t keep hearing about these damn big babies. Babies that come out of their mothers as fourteen pound turkeys ready for roasting. Yeah, I can birth an eight pounder but wouldn’t passing a fourteen pound baby fuck my body up royally? Lead to assisted birth with a vacuum or those scary tong things? Even though this is only week 38, in my imagination this baby in my belly is gaining weight like no tomorrow. I have semi proof too, when I got my legitimate boulder belly measured she came out a strong 43 inches this week. WTF? Is that not unnatural?? OK. Truthfully, my belly is where I carried most of my weight pre-baby, but still – come on now, 43 inches? How big are you in there fetus?  If you are over ten pounds already, for god sake, STOP EATING! PUT THE BEARCLAW DOWN! DON’T HURT MAMA! I’m in a tizzy.

So, blogosphere mamas, I need a little support here. Perhaps reassurance. However, if you had a fourteen pound pork roast escape your loins … maybe I don’t want to hear from you? I’d like to pretend you don’t exist, but I mean that in the nicest way possible!

I spent a lot of time during this pregnancy saying that I didn’t want to watch too many shows or movies on birth and pregnancy. I didn’t want to talk in depth with anyone about their experiences out of fear it would cloud my own. Plus I am such a worrier that I figured every negative or hard to hear story would somehow attach itself to me and become my fate. But, now here at the end I have a lot more questions than I have answers and every time I am in the doctor’s office and she says, “Any questions this week?” I just say no. The only person I talk to in depth or pose questions to is Hubby, and the poor guy can’t do much other than shrug and say he doesn’t know. It always comes with a hug or a cuddle, so it’s not completely useless but it doesn’t lend itself to helping me get mental rest.

Friends keep asking me is baby here yet, and this is getting … not old, but tedious because I feel like when I respond with the no not yet response that somehow I am failing. Ridiculous, right? It’s early yet, and I personally don’t have real control over the progress of this pregnancy. Baby H is going to come in his or her own time, especially since I’m not requesting “the sweep” or any other natural inducements. So in the end, it is just me sitting at home doing nothing, thinking (sorry, that is worrying) I’m growing an impassable kid in my womb.

Here is my own psychotic twist, I know myself well enough to admit that even though I sit here talking like I really want labour to come and pass, that I want to meet my baby and that somehow through it all I’ve found a way to be ready for this – the second I realise I am in my actual labour I will be scared shitless and complaining that its come too early and that I’m not ready. That I never was ready and I never will be ready to be someone’s mom.

Is it hormones or is it me, I wonder. Am I the type who will always need something to worry about? Why is it that I cannot for one second just allow myself to be comfortable and happy in a situation of my own making? Why has this whole process been so hard and why do I insist on levying the microscope on myself for self inflicted judgement and scrutiny?

Who wants a mother like this. Not a question, for now I’ll let it just be my final statement.