Forty Plus


May 10, 2014. For close to a year, it has been emblazoned in our minds (or at least in mine) as a pretty Saturday in the spring when we'd meet our little baby. That's SO HILARIOUS, because I'm currently sitting in Starbucks seven days after that and my baby cannot be bothered to come on out of the canal and meet e'erybody.

The days right before our due date, I was certifiably insane. I came close to breaking the Google in my desperate search for ways to naturally induce labor. I drank excessive amounts of tea, ate entire pineapples, cookies that tasted like fire, danced really vigorously to Usher, romped around with my husband, broke in the breast pump, went on long walks, did lunges. Sipped on some castor oil mixed in a glass of orange juice. I nested my heart out. I lifted my skirt hoping to be pleasantly surprised to discover she was crowning. Instead, I am pretty sure I heard her say, "You think I could have another one of those fire cookies before I go back to sleep?"

I got a pedicure, thinking it would relax me a bit and would bring some comfort to my little sausage feet. Instead, my kind nail technician ripped my cuticles out like she was eradicating a disease from a third world country, and if I had at all been dilated before that point I am sure my cervix was like, "NOPE, NO THANKS" and then sealed up like a clam.

In summary: some babies really and truly do not care about any attempts to bring them out before they care to. Also, my uterus is Fort Knox - I respect her for it, but hope she'll reconsider evicting the current resident in the next few days. The new plan is that I'm just going to keep my baby in there until she's about three. That way, she will come out potty trained and sleeping through the night. Her onesies will fit like muscle shirts, and we'll be able to braid her hair right away. Also, when we have another baby one day - that baby will be able to just walk out of me. I think it's a good idea.

As much as everyone else might get frustrated that she has her own plans, I am going to choose joy and focus on the fun things that happened when I finally came to terms with the fact that due dates are called ESTIMATED due dates for a reason. That the baby has to and will eventually come out and then we'll forget about the long days waiting for her after May 10.

For instance, I relish the kindness of strangers toward pregnant women. People open doors for you! They smile at you like you are a tiny kitten wearing a top hat - adorable and graceful, even as you waddle and try in vain to fit through doorways.

It gets even more fun for every day that you go past your due date. People smile and their eyes turn into the shape of crescent moons as they ask, "When are you due?" and when you say, "Three days ago" their eyes get very large and they slowly back away from you and wait for your baby to shoot out of you like a cannon. A special thanks to my new friend at Chipotle that rewarded my valor with extra barbacoa and only charged me for chicken, and did not judge me when I came back for another burrito bowl the very next day.

Really, though? Dramatics aside (it's just a week), all is well here. I'm healthy, baby is healthy, and we're waiting and it's okay and it's good. I'm thankful we made it this far, I'm grateful that my OB is patient and hasn't pressured me to induce. I'm soaking up the quiet and the rest, and looking forward to what indescribable joy I know it will be when I finally get to see what it's like to bring forth new life. For now - we carry on and eat pineapple just because it is delicious.

(P.S. - if you're remotely curious about if my daughter ever makes a world debut - we will likely show her off on Instagram and Facebook when the time comes).