Well today’s the day. Ok, probably not. But according to the calendar today is 40 weeks to the day of our last insemination and thus, our due date. We’re beyond ready, which is probably why this baby seems to be taking his/her time coming out to greet the world. Surely if we still hadn’t bought a crib or already installed the car seat, the baby would’ve come three weeks early. Alas, we’re planners, and seem to be as ready as anyone can be to welcome a newborn into our lives. So here we sit and wait.
In the last few days we’ve done our homework, and have decided to try anything we can to bring on labor. I’ve been taking walks around the neighborhood (if my lumbering waddle can qualify as a walk), sitting and rolling around on an exercise ball, and squatting and stretching as much as I can. I’ve had spicy food, a glass of red wine and orgasms (not all at the same time). I draw the line at castor oil. I’d rather be pregnant for another week or two than drink that.
Last night we opted for local folklore. There’s an old school italian restaurant just north of Atlanta called Scalini’s that swears their eggplant parmigiana will induce labor inside of 48 hours. Allegedly several thousand women have given birth within a few days of eating it and as a result they seat 5-10 pregnant women for each dinner service; I was the 4th last night at only 6:30. One woman’s water even broke in the parking lot on her way to the car. They’re so sure the little magic potion will work that if you eat there and give birth within the next 2 days, you can come back for a $25 voucher, baby t-shirt and a spot on their Eggplant Baby wall. So I did it – I don’t care about the voucher or t-shirt, and I’m pretty sure our baby’s first claim to fame doesn’t need to be on the dark walls of a 30-year-old restaurant – I just want to get this party started. I’m not a fan of eggplant in general, but I have to admit it was awfully tasty. The key to their success is most likely that the fat content in the dish raises your blood pressure in such a way that your body is forced to expel all large objects – like babies. Either that, or MKL is right and they put pitocin in the marinara.
No matter the secret, it hasn’t worked so far. I really didn’t expect it to, but I’m kind of a skeptic when it comes to things like this. Not so with my wife. She has taken any out-of-the-ordinary news we’ve heard in the past 24 hours as a sign that the baby’s on its way. Her dad shot a 75 yesterday on the golf course. Great score – must mean there’s a baby coming soon. Our bff’s mother won money in a scratch-off lottery ticket – that’s good luck for a delivery this weekend. For months, our dog has been parading around the house with a bone in her mouth, just showing off. This morning, without warning she started to eat it. So of course she’s just trying to make sure it’s gone before the baby gets here…today. No line at Publix? It’s a great sign. Call me a child of the 80’s, but I can’t stop singing Tesla.
Everyone has an idea of when I’ll go into labor. MKL’s mother thinks she’ll get a phone call tomorrow morning at 10:15; my mother just says, “late…after your due date,” a friend of a friend has even said “something will happen” tonight between 6:00-7:00. MKL has made 2 guesses, both of which were wrong, so now she just breathes deeply – and loudly – as if she can either sigh or not breathe at all. As I told a friend earlier, I’ve given up on making predictions, mostly because I detest being wrong. So until the baby comes, we’ll just continue to talk to my belly. We’ll just keep telling the monkey, “You’re so special. We can’t wait to meet you. Everyone’s ready to see you. Come on out already!” And we’ll just keep looking for signs. Hmph. I finished this post exactly on the hour. Pretty sure that means we’re going to have a baby today.
Signs, signs, everywhere there’s signs.