Now that I'm just five days away from my due date, it's hitting home that we don't really know when she's coming. In my mind we'll go to the hospital on the due date and that'll be it, the three of us sticking to this fictional appointment. But that's just not how it works. So we're hanging out in limbo, waiting.
I've also been nervous about going early, because I feel like I need every single day to prepare.
But the truth is, we're ready and if it happened this week we could handle it. I'm at the point where there's very little I feel like doing, including laying down, sitting up, standing, walking, sleeping, eating, breathing, talking, thinking, working, writing, texting, watching TV, reading, etc. There's no escaping this uncomfortable feeling and I'm a prisoner in my own body. The skin on my stomach is stretched so tight that it feels too sensitive to be touched even in the gentlest way. I'll karate chop anyone who tries to go near my belly button. It didn't turn into an outie, by the way. It's flat, sure, but I don't think it's going to pop out.
At my weekly checkup today the doctor confirmed that nothing is happening to signify I'm heading into labor. That doesn't mean it won't happen soon enough, as I could be one of those people who go from zero to sixty. Her terrifying words, not mine. I'm hoping for things to occur naturally and without medical intervention to get the ball rolling, but I'm not downing any castor oil or other old wives tonics to get there.
So for now, we wait. And I'll continue my restless sleeping, interrupted by heartburn and bathroom breaks. I don't think Chris is getting enough sleep either, but he hasn't complained. Cross your fingers for us that she comes at just the right time.