I don’t know what is more unnerving – the fact that little L has missed her due date and that every passing day brings me closer to the whole drip-epidural-induction-nightmare; or people that keep on calling, texting and commenting on the fact that my belly is still occupied territory.
‘Where is little L?’, ‘L?’, ‘Is she still in your tummy?’ and ‘Isn’t she a bit late?’ to mention just a few considerate questions I receive. Daily. My favourites were this week’s comments on how high up my belly still was (‘too high to go into labour anytime soon’), and that Braxton-Hicks contractions would indicate another 4 weeks of pregnancy to come. I would be 45 weeks pregnant by then, how sensational!
How am I meant to stay relaxed and calm, if my dearest apparently try so hard to freak me out? Most of them have children themselves, so I believe they should know how it feels to play the waiting game.
In my rare moments of enlightenment, I know that I can trust my body, that my baby is just not ready to come out yet and that everything will happen as it is meant to be. Especially when you bear in mind that the so-called ‘due date’ is calculated using Naegele’s rule. This guy died more than 150 years ago and should not have the right to interfere with my mood and wellbeing from his graveyard.
In my darker moments I just feel like a failure.
So please, don’t tramp on my naked nerves. Never been known as one to hold back, I will spread the news soon enough.