Week 32: The one with the due date speculation

On the topic of due dates vs. when the baby […]

Baby No. 1’s due date: January 10. Every single person I talked to told me that first babies always come late. And because the general public seems so well-informed and trustworthy, I went ahead and believed them. I resigned myself to the fact that the baby would come sometime after January 10. So you can imagine how surprised I was when my water broke on December 31! That’s right—around 11 p.m. on New Year’s Eve, I waddled into the bathroom to pee, found my husband in there, cutting his toenails (as one does on the eve of a New Year) when my water broke. It’s possible that my husband had been enjoying the New Year’s Eve festivities (based upon the fact that I had, earlier in the day, assured him with a 100 percent guarantee, that the baby was not coming that day) and, as a result of such celebrating, was unable to drive. That’s right—we had to hitch a ride to the hospital with my dad, like two teenagers. We’re nothing if not classy.
Baby No. 1’s arrival: Nine days early.
Baby No. 2’s due date: August 16. Because Baby No. 1 came 9 days earlier than expected, I put it into my head that Baby No. 2 would also come nine days early. My OB assured me that that’s not the way it works; just because one baby comes early does not mean that all subsequent babies will also come early. Because that wasn’t what I wanted to hear, I immediately dismissed what she had to say and went on thinking that Baby No. 2 would arrive early. So you can imagine my disappointment when nine days before August 16 came and went without a baby. Then eight days. Then seven days. Six … Five … Obviously the doctor (and her fancy medical degree) were right. But then, on August 12, four days before his due date, my water broke, and Baby No. 2 arrived on the scene.
Baby No. 2’s arrival: Four days early.
Baby No. 3’s due date: March 26. My original due date with Baby No. 3 was April 2. But then, at an early ultrasound, the baby was measuring big, so they pushed the due date up by a week. My husband was steadfast throughout my pregnancy that the original due date was the right one. March 26 came and went without any sign of Baby No. 3. I posted a picture on Facebook of my 40-week belly with the caption “40 Weeks. That’s it, baby; time’s up. Get out.” And I meant it. It was time for that baby to get out. But the baby wasn’t interested. And I was left in a position where I had to decide if I wanted to be induced or wait and see if the baby would make a move on its own. The misery of being 40 weeks pregnant won out, and Baby No. 3 was evicted, via induction, on March 28. I think I’ll always wonder if April 2 was actually her due date and I’m wrongly accusing her of being late to the party.
Baby No. 3’s arrival: Two days LATE.

Baby No. 4’s arrival: TBD







