Since birthing my first baby two years ago, I have realized an important fact about babies. They know lots of profound things when they are born: like how to yell. And poop. And look generally adorable. What they don’t know is how to read a Gregorian calendar.
I know this fact well. My little guy came not just a day or two after his “due date” but 13 full days after he was supposed to arrive. According to my midwife, his late appearance put him in an elite group of stubborn babies who drive their mothers completely crazy before they ever arrive. (She says the number hovers around the four percent mark.)
And, now, being 40 weeks and three days pregnant as of today, it appears that my little girl is going to follow his lead. When my due date came and went two years ago, I was depressed with a capital D. (Really, I think I cried all day.) This time, I knew that when my OB’s pregnancy wheel told me that our baby was “due” on September 21, what she actually meant was that our baby was almost 100 percent certain not to arrive on that day. (Apparently, only 5 percent of babies come on their due dates.)
That said, I’m not the slightest bit concerned about Vivian Jayne coming or not coming. I know that when she’s ready, the crazy roller coaster of contractions will start, and I’ll be a mother of two before I know it. (And, FYI for any other overdue moms, this devil-may-care approach is way more fun than stressing about how to evict their little booties from your belly.)
Plus, having the extra time has given me a chance to do super awesome and safe things this week like face plant in the grocery store in front of a crowd of strangers—seriously, I’m positive that every person in the entire store was in the produce aisle at the exact moment I turned a corner and slipped on a clump of grapes—or do the splits on a slippery algae-covered deck … while wearing high heels … seconds before my sister-in-law walked down the aisle to her groom. (What can I say? I’m not only graceful, but I have great timing, too!)
So, speaking of timing, as you can see, I have been making good use of my extra days as a mom-of-one. But, Vivian Jayne, (I’m addressing you directly just in case you’re one of those genius babies who can yell, poop, look adorable and read in-utero), you might want to come out soon. I’m running out of ways to embarrass myself, and the next fall I take may have me laid up in the hospital. And, believe you me, if I have to spend any time in those stark white rooms, I’d rather it be for a new sweet baby than a broken leg.