It should be noted that I'm not actually overdue. My technical due date is Saturday, though based on when I thought I was ovulating, my due date should be the 29th. However, based on when I actually had sex, in hopes of conceiving a girl, should the due date be correct, that means those dumb boy sperm swam super fast and I am definitely having another boy.
I think I got cocky when the doctor said I was 2 cm dilated. I mean, walking around with your cervix gaping open the diameter of some purse change seems pretty awesome. Plus with Nate, I didn't get to 2 cm until my water had broken. I figured this baby would fly out. Alas, not the case. This baby is not Nate and I have to keep reminding myself that.
I never really gave much thought to picking favourites, save for that brief bit of sarcasm Wednesday. Today I'm definitely leaning towards the unborn child. Nate has woken up every night this week and begged to come into our bed. And I, feeling guilty about everything, have acquiesced. Besides, I've been ordered to get some nipple stimulation and since the Dog is so tired, I am relying on my pervy toddler's need to tweak. (Yes, it's disturbing to me too. But I'm not really looking at them like toys anymore, so much as necessary appendages.)
Then Nate goes and gets himself covered with a head to toe rash. Palms and soles. The works. I have ruled out hand, foot, mouth disease, because that would mean another week similar to the cold sores/herpes and I really can't handle that right now. But now, as I am genetically compelled to do as an Armenian woman, I must worry.
The rash doesn't seem life-threatening: his mood is fine, his appetite is decent, he has no fever. Yet, I can't help but feel that I will be in the hospital this weekend, forced to make a choice between giving birth to a new baby, or sitting at the bedside of my first love. (Yes, I realize that the choice really won't be up to me, but still... I like to over-dramatize in my head.)
Thankfully, my husband tends to get really manly around the time of new babies. He stepped forward this afternoon and insisted we take Nate to Grandma's after our visit to the homey. My Homey thought Nate's rash looked like severe heat rash, though that's puzzling since it hasn't been all that hot until today and the rash appeared yesterday. Anyway, after she gave Nate a remedy for the rash, she got to talking to us about the week we've been having. She also looked at my belly and said, "Whoa Mama! This baby's ready to come out!" I have been repeating that in my head all night.
She gave me something to help get my labour going and told me to call her on her cell if I go into labour. We drove to Shamrock Burger in Scarborough, because although the books say to eat light, nutritious, easily digestible meals before labour, I am listening to body and my body wants a burger. And maybe a chocolate shake.
Oh the sense of guilt I felt leaving Nate at Grandma's. "Don't go," he pleaded with me through blubbering sobs. I heard him crying, "Mommy, Daddy" all the way to the car. I know it's going to be OK, but leaving him when he's all covered in yuckies is hard. Grandma called just after 9:30 to assure me that everything was OK and I need not worry. Nate was fast asleep.
I woke up at 3 am with contractions strong enough that I needed to breathe through them. I tried to sleep through them but couldn't. I got up and read more of Middlesex, then took a shower to cool down and feel better. I laid in a semi-lucid state with my favourite lullaby, the Dog's heartbeat, under my ear and tried to rest. But it's futile. I am restless. And hungry.
So I'm up eating Gouda and grapes (pretty good combo actually!) and attempting to time these buggers to see if there's a pattern. The only problem is, they are less frequent when I'm sitting vs when I'm lying down. Go figure. Don't go lighting your candles just yet, but here's hoping I don't have time to write again until AFTER the baby.