Hello, due date!
Goodbye, due date!
I had a nonstress test and a biophysical profile this morning and passed both with flying fucking colors. The baby is reactive and happy and has enough amniotic fluid to see him through winter. (I'd be annoyed with him for being so cozy in there if the ultrasound hadn't shown us his adorable and brilliant fetal breathing, which awwwwww, what cute little lungs!)
Cervix? Not dilated. IN THE SLIGHTEST. MY GOD.
So we wait.
My doctor doesn't want to rush things and is imploring me to be patient. Which in theory, I completely agree with. If the baby isn't ready, he isn't ready.
Then I get home and huff and puff my way up the stairs, moan as I plop down on the couch and stare at my swollen feet and massive stretch-marked belly while Jason gazes longingly into our gorgeous nursery and then sadly heads off to work and suddenly I am rethinking this whole low-intervention bullshit because HELLO, I SIGNED UP FOR A BABY AND WOULD LIKE TO REDEEM MY COUPON NOW PLEASE.
I go back on Monday to repeat both tests. Unless I, you know, go into labor, which could happen because:
1) As of this morning, we have kitchen countertops and a sparkly new sink. I secretly think the baby has been waiting for them.
2) My doctor is away this weekend and Dr. Cold Dead Fish will be on call for deliveries.
3) Ceiba is freaking the fuck out at anybody who dares approach me, which she's never done before. (Unless you offer her a Greenie. Then she's all, "Take her!" and runs happily away.)
Aaaaannnddd...that's all I have for today. The Wednesday Advice Smackdown is still on hiatus because thinking is hard for pregnant ladies.
Especially for pregnant ladies who, while walking the dog this morning, threw their house key into the garbage can meant for the baggie of dog poop that they held in their other hand and then had to reach in and fish their house key out of the garbage can that was totally full of other people's baggies of dog poop.*
*Hypothetically speaking, of course.**
**Except totally not, of course.