Due Date Update

It's officially October 7, Beanie's due date. The last day of the last week of a full-term pregnancy. My forty weeks are up. The strangest and most surprising forty weeks of my life, for the record. The "Beanie Counter" over there to the right is mocking me, excitedly proclaiming I have zero days left! My uterus, steadfast in its stillness, seems to think otherwise.

And now... NOW, you can tell me that I look like I'm about to pop. (Those of you who said it a month ago? Yeah, offense taken.)

We have scheduled a labor induction for next Wednesday, assuming she isn't here by then. But she'd better be. Both because I don't want to wait that long, and I really don't want to be induced (I have called pitocin the elixir of Satan more than once, and I stand by that statement).

In the meantime, I am bored. Mark's work leave started on Saturday and I hate that we're just sitting around doing nothing during his time off. We toyed around with going to Wilmington on Monday to see the battleship and the beach for a few hours, but rain did away with those family-day plans. So I am now actually bored enough to be wishing for labor. Yes, even though labor is pretty much the most awful thing in the world. I mean, I have to do it anyway, right? So it might as well be sooner rather than later, so I can meet my little girl!

I was also apparently bored enough that I shaved my legs. For the second time in 2009. (Earth-shattering, I know.) Because, you know... that will make the whole delivery process a little smoother and more feminine, right? [shakes head]

And our family has finally been personally affected by the H1N1 virus. We knew it was inevitable, but this timing? Not so hot. First, we found out that siblings won't be allowed to come to the hospital to meet new babies. No one under eighteen is allowed in that wing of the hospital. Because Mark has a fond memory of going to the hospital with his dad to meet his baby brother two and a half decades ago, he was looking forward to taking Nathan... and is a little bummed that it won't happen quite how we pictured it. But, we also know Nathan is only two and probably wouldn't remember it anyway. It's probably a good rule, as much as I hate to admit it.

And then... THEN, we found out last night that the people taking care of Nathan during our hospital stay officially have H1N1. That's right, we have a confirmed case of swine flu in our toddler's caretakers one day before our newborn's due date. Which means they can't really take care of Nathan and expose him... Nathan getting sick for a few days would be miserable, but probably not the end of the world. But a newborn getting swine flu (or any flu, for that matter) would be much much worse. The family feels really bad (though it's no fault of their own, of course... we just want them to feel better, fast!) and I think they're a little bummed they won't be in on the Beanie-delivery action after all. I told them to rest assured that they will go down in history as being part of the action. We will definitely be telling this story in years to come. This will make it into the baby book. Beanie will know, for sure, that they had a diagnosis of the infamous 2009 swine flu the day before we expected her. (I'm not sure if I made them feel better or worse by telling them that.) And in ten years, this will be really funny.

In the meantime, praise Jesus for the gift of Nick and Barbara, whose availability to our family for everything from a last-minute middle eastern vacation, to an unexpected change in hospitalization plans, is nothing short of amazing. I kind of don't know what we would do without them. (Or without Nick's flexible work-from-home-with-a-toddler-nephew schedule.)

For now, I am off to spend my due date at the spa. (Because who would say no to that, if the hubby gives the green light?) Which will be about four hundred times more comfortable than labor anyway. A prenatal massage and pumpkin spice body scrub are definitely in order, especially if my massage therapist knows any pressure points to trigger labor (here's hoping).