It is the month of my due date. Wait. What? How did that happen? I checked the calendar, but it’s true. It’s June, and this baby will be here in a matter of weeks … possibly even days now that I’m technically considered “full term.”
Random side note: I have this weird feeling that Birdie is going to hatch early, but it might be my way of coping with the fact that I have no clue—so I want to be prepared for anything. It could be tomorrow … or it could be another month. I’m trying to train my brain to think more long term in case I go past my due date, which is looking more and more likely as I’ve had nary a Braxton Hicks contraction thus far. (And both Lee and I came very tardy to the party, so this kid could take after us. Goodie.)
My due date—or as my childbirth instructor liked to say, my “guess” date—is no longer a calendar flip away. It’s right there on the wall staring me in the face every single day. And it keeps showing up … because I now think of things and events in relation to that date. Regular life is still going on, and it doesn’t really matter to anyone else that our water bill is due five days after I am. Well, except maybe my husband. We have friends celebrating their wedding the day after. Our milk expires another day after that. It’s so strange to have this day that was in the back of my mind for nearly eight months suddenly be right around the corner. It seemed so abstract and so very far away, and now it’s anything but.
Whenever anyone finds out how close I am to that momentous date, they never fail to ask, “Are you ready?” I used to emphatically reply, “No.” But now, the wind has shifted, and I think we are about as ready as we will ever be. The hospital bags have been packed, save for the last-minute grab-and-go items like phone chargers and toothbrushes. The car seat bases have been installed. The freezer is stocked with postpartum meals. I even had time to make a batch of those Pinterest padcicles with witch hazel. I mean, we aren’t just twiddling our thumbs because I’d love to give the house one more good deep clean, but I’m at the que sera sera point of this nesting thing.
My mind and body are much more focused on the work that lies ahead, the work of labor and birthing this baby. Everything else is suddenly shrinking in importance, which is funny because a few weeks ago my to-do list was king. Maybe my subconscious knows something is coming. Maybe I’m just too exhausted to care that much about organizing the linen closet. Either way, I’m in the home stretch, and it feels good.