Forty Weeks, Come and Gone

Today was my (estimated) due date. Which, of course, means absolutely nothing, since baby doesn't read calendars yet, and, could she (or he?), wouldn't give two craps about it, anyway. I know all of this, but I am still finding it difficult not to be impatient; not so much because it's my "due date," and baby is "late," but because my mom and my mother-in-law are here, waiting around for baby to show up, and baby isn't here. And, because, with all the bleeding and nonsense that was going on at the beginning of all of this, I really geared myself up for a miscarriage. We made it all the way through, and there's still this niggling fear that something will go awry. I know this is, well, possible —but unlikely. And still it persists.

Other than that, things are going well. I'm still hideously comfortable, for having carried this child in my uterus for such a very long, short time. My ankles have started swelling if I'm on my feet too long, but they go back down immediately once I'm off of them. I'm peeing all the time, but that's hardly even worth mentioning, since that's what pregnant women do. I'm still tired all the time, but since the moms have been here, I've been able to rest some, without worrying about the kids doing anything rotten. The moms have been watching the kids, cooking for us (they even stocked our fridge and freezer, and are making meals to freeze so I don't have to cook right away after they leave).

So there you have it. We'll see when baby decides to come, and I will try to be patient.

Unfortunately, patience is not one of my life skills.