We're still waiting.
My due date is fast approaching, and Dr. B still doesn't know about the job. And that's just the way it is.
We feel like kids who've ordered something from the back of a cereal box, or Highlights magazine, or an Archie comic.
6 to 8 weeks, it said.
It could be four. They could send it early. I mean, how hard can it be? Things come early sometimes, don't they?
And we wait. And there's nothing.
OK, Six. Here we are. Six. It's gotta be any day now. We're ready. We've prepared. We've got it going on. It should be here, right away!
And we wait. And there's nothing.
So we wait, for eight. Or ten. Because it could be ten. Or even (gulp) twelve. (Both Dr. B and I were first babies, and we were both late. Very late. I was 25 days late. He was a month late. And you wonder why we can never show up on time for a party?)
Last week, Dr. B got frustrated and emailed the big U to find out the status. Turns out he is "one of the top two or three" and they are asking for funding for more than one. But the guy that does funding is in Ghana. So it will be a while yet. It helps to know, though.
On Wednesday, I got a call from my MIL.
So, how you feeling?
No. A few contractions, but nothing big. Doc says I'm 70% effaced, and still only 1 cm. dilated. Could be tomorrow, but it could be in three weeks. No way of knowing.
Huh. I was hoping.
We'd tell you, you know.
I know. It's just...
Well, my friend's daughter is due three days after you, and she had hers yesterday.
Yeah, but she had a ceserean. She was quite heavy, so maybe she had diabetes or preeclampsia or something. I don't know.
Well, ceserean's can be scheduled, you know.
Yeah, I know. I was just hoping. I thought maybe you were there already. At the hospital. You know, since she had hers, and you're due before her...
J, we will call you.
I know. I just am so excited. I thought for sure. I mean, it's just days now, until your due date. Fourteen days! Just days! I thought maybe...
No, J. We'll call you. You'll know.
So, she's ready. Her school district is already out (lucky them, Madison goes until 6/15) and she's ready to join us to help when the baby's born. I've accepted jobs for through next Friday, figuring I'd rather earn diaper money than sit at home and stare at my ginormous gut and wonder when she's going to make an appearance. I can always cancel them if I'm too tired or in labor.
Yesterday, I woke up in a very strange state. For one, it was twenty to ten. TWENTY TO TEN!!! I haven't slept that late since we lived in France. Huh, must have been a hormone shift or something. (Today I stayed in bed until 9. Still pretty good for me.) Then, I noticed my bump had definitely shifted downward. There was no longer the high rise under my boobs, and I was 1 inch bigger around the middle (now 43 inches.) I spent the morning having a wonderful, selfish weekend (eating cookies that taste like the Girl Scout Peanut Butter patties and cold pizza in my jammies, drinking caffeinated coffee, emailing, reading blogs, reading a really fluffy novel and watching the Tudors.)
I then spent the rest of the day doing productive crap, like laundry, cleaning, reorganizing, writing thank you notes, and putting new stuff away. The nesting happened more in the last month--this was just frustrated energy more than anything. I didn't feel compelled, just disgusted with my messy house and tasks left to complete.
After supper, Dr. B and I decided to go to a movie. It had been a long time since we've been to the theater, so we were anxious to go. He ate popcorn (all before the previews were over, as is his compulsion) which I skipped, thinking that avoiding the salt would help me avoid my nightly foot swelling, and I used the bathroom three times before Johnny Depp came on-screen. Hoping.
Yeah, right. Pirates of the Caribbean 3 turned out to be a bit confusing for me. Mainly because I had to get up to pee approximately 27 times. You miss a lot when that happens. I guess it was too loud for little Zizou, because she was dancing like she just don't care, making her Mommy nearly wet her pants every 8.3 minutes. My pelvis ached with every step I took to and from the bathroom (27 times), I couldn't get comfortable for the life of me, and my feel swelled up so bad the skin felt like it was going to split.
I've gained 20 pounds with this pregnancy, and I'm pretty sure at least 8 of it is in my feet (mostly the right one). I look like a blonde half-Hobbit (I guess just the right side is Hobbit). The shoe envy is killing me--I see so many super cute shoes I want, but all my poofy pieds will fit into (and that's only with some shoving and mooshing around of the foot skin) is my Mephistos or my Birkenstocks, on the last notch. Plus, I don't know if my feet will have grown, as is often the case. I want a haircut, too, but I'm afraid it will all fall out after the baby's born. So I thought, maybe a handbag? Then I look at the price and think, "that will buy a lot of diapers." Even my clothes, the cute maternity things I was so excited to wear, are looking pilly and old. Amazing after only a few months--they charge an arm and a leg, and then the dumb things look like crap after one pregnancy. It's a racket, I tell you!
So here I am. Fat, puffy, ugly, with zits, a bushy blonde head, wearing pilly clothes and ugly shoes, and without the new handbag I'd really love to get.
Waiting for our Sea Monkeys and Decoder Ring.
Pass the cookies.