Fixed and dilated

I blame George Clooney. Not for the big things like world hunger, global warming, and acid washed jeans. No. I blame him for E.R. reruns. It’s his fault for making me watch them. If I hadn’t been so intrigued by the style and color of Mr. Clooney’s hair on any given episode, I would never have learned this helpful emergency room phrase, “… his pupils are fixed and dilated!” On the show, this phrase was consistently uttered as a precursor to some life or death catastrophe. Anything “fixed” and “dilated” was always a bad thing. Or so I thought. Where I am now in my pregnancy, I’d give anything be dilated. Huh. Maybe I need to get my cervix fixed.
Finally, I can count on one hand the days left until my official due date! It won’t be much longer now! I’ll be able to wear my wedding ring! I’ll be able to eat a spicy tuna hand-roll! I’ll be able to wash baby vomit out of my hair! So many life changes just around the corner.
So, each time my OB-GYN checks my cervix (now I know how a Muppet feels), I hope to hear her say, “Wow! You are a million centimeters dilated! Time to push!” What a lovely phrase that must be to hear. It ranks up there with “Will you marry me?” and “We do have your size hanging in the back.”
Instead, while my doctor is poking around my cervix with her whole hand and looking for lose change up there, reality hits me in the form of sentences: “Well, it’s a little thinner,” my doctor’s voice echoes from down below, “Still not dilated …” And with that, my impending labor feels as far away as that elusive tuna hand-roll.
It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed being pregnant. I’ve enjoyed the swelling, and the sweating, and the big boobs. (Well, my husband has enjoyed the big boobs.) And it’s not that I’m in a huge hurry to sleep even less and be covered in vomit. But I am ready for the next phase of this to begin. I’m ready to walk through the grocery store holding my little one instead of waddling through the freezer section holding my back. I’m ready to move from being pregnant to being a mom. I wish my cervix agreed with me.
I realize now I should have formed a deeper relationship with my shy cervix. Looking back, I should have been nicer. I should have talked to her more. I should have told her how much I appreciated all that she does for me. I should have at least taken her out for drinks. If I only I could find some way to get her to trust me and open up so we can get this baby out …
Maybe George Clooney should talk to her…