I’m trying not to obsess over it. Your lateness. I’m trying really, really hard.
But everyone else is having their babies and darnit why won’t you come out and play!
My birthday is in April. Your Daddy’s birthday is in April. Your birthday…will not be in April.
You are gonna be a May baby, which is weird to me, because for almost 10 months now we have been saying that you will arrive around April 28th. The end of April. I’m due in April! April April April.
We have been walking every day, the three of us. A few blocks in and you hunker way down, making my belly feel suddenly twice the weight.
Your lateness has also brought out a whole other side to my swollen feet. They are now cramped swollen feet. Something about all the water makes them feel perpetually cramped, to the point that I limp around the house like I’m injured and groan when I walk down the stairs. They throb when I prop them up on the ottoman and throb when I walk and throb when I stand still. My left one is worse, so when I get up from the couch it flings off to the side so I can put at least a portion of my weight over my big toe, and the side-flung foot and an additional foot pain grunt is added to the previously existing getting-up-from-the-couch grunt.
We’re an attractive pair right now, you and I. And by attractive I mean we look and sound horrendous.
My cheeks are getting puffier by the day, my eyes too, and your lateness simply means that I’m still going up in numbers on the scale as the days and weeks roll by, and not yet down.
You’re late, girlfriend. Have I mentioned that?
Your friends and family have suggested all manner of methods to encourage you to vacate the property. Everything from types of foods to types of movies to certain things with Daddy that there is no way I’m going to mention, let alone try in my current state.
We were so perfectly prepared and organized a couple weeks ago, in case you decided to make an early arrival. But then you didn’t, and we got several more things accomplished and taken care of for your on-time arrival. But then you didn’t arrive on-time either, so now we spend a few moments every morning over our bowls of breakfast oatmeal brainstorming several projects we can try to accomplish that day, in addition to our everyday work. Every day we do this, and every night we think, thank goodness we came up with enough things today, because SURELY we won’t have to do this again tomorrow. And then we wake up and it’s tomorrow and our to-do list comes out again.
We’re too organized for our own good, Babygirl. That’s what I’m saying.
You’re late. I’m trying to be patient. I’m trying not to obsess over it. I’m trying really, really hard.
I want to touch your little fingers and sniff your little head and snuggle you until the cows come home, and instead I’m working on blog posts and mortgage documents and oh hey why don’t I give this new recipe for whole wheat banana bread a try.
I like banana bread, Babygirl, but I think I will like your little fingers a bit more.
Come out and play soon?
For more in the Dear Babygirl series: Letters to my Unborn Daughter