I think I have sorted out why I didn't have a blog--I get so caught up in reading other people's that I forget to write my own.
Many things have progressed since I wrote last. The apartment is now satisfactorily organized and baby ready. Excellent news considering I've been told to "take it easy", "pack my bags", and expect the bundle of joy "at any time". In short, I am 2cm dilated. And while I have--thankfully--not been put on bed rest, they've asked me to kindly do my best to keep her in there for at least another week (at which point I will be 37weeks, full term). I'm doing my best to not get my hopes up as I eagerly wait her arrival, while my darling blabs that we will have a baby within the week.
I know the stories though. The stories of the women who dilate early and then wait. And wait. And wait. The anticipation killing them as they walk for miles, stopping at every curry joint they come across and ordering vindaloo with extra cayenne. And then, 8 days overdue, 60 gallons of raspberry leaf tea later, they are induced. I refuse. I refuse to get carried away. Though I must admit each day I wake up after my incredibly restful 4 hours sleep, pat the bulge that has hidden my bottom half from view for months, and say "you can come now, baby". I am ready. No longer scared, as I was for the first eight and a half months. Just ready.
You can come now, baby.
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