I'm still pregnant.
Friends keep calling, emailing, texting. And I have to be all, nope. Nothing.
It's very anticlimactic.
But like every day lately, maybe today will be the day?
What I just this moment realized I don't know - and maybe you do? - is this. Is it that the kid triggers my body to go into labor? Like, he produces some hormone that causes me to react? Or is it my body that just decides it's time?
Because of course I have been putting all the blame on him until I typed the words above.
Also, what I forgot to mention to you about all the testing last week was this. With all the detailed ultrasoundy measurements they proffered a size estimate.
8 lbs, 6 ounces. Give or take 20 ounces.
Apparently it's impossible to predict accurately, but they plug all these numbers in and get a calculation, with the understanding that there's a wide margin of error.
So. That means as of last Thursday, even if you minus 20 ounces, he was still, what, like 7 pounds?? And 10, if you add the 20?
And every goddamn day, he's just packing it on.
The truth is, I've tried to be all sweet and loving and, "Oh, sweetheart, it' so pretty and sunny! You're going to love it on the outside! Today would be a great day to be born!"
But you know me. I don't always succeed.
This morning, Nick was cuddling me, with his hand under my stomach, feeling the boy all tap-tap-tapping on his hand.
"It really is miraculous, isn't it, Lis? You're doing something completely magical."
And it is true. Growing a whole human being inside your body is kind of crazy magic.
Thinking about it made me breathless. I teared up. It is just so amazing.
But then I got my breath back and said, "Yes. And now it's time for the little 7-10 pound fucker to get out."