This morning at my last appointment, the Doctor decided to schedule an induction date. He's due on Sunday, but is evidently sitting most comfortably. So, she said that we'd schedule an eviction in case he doesn't change his mind. Apparently, though, there are lots comfy babies right now and the hospital is booked up for inductions next week. So, I'm on the waiting list (are you kidding me?) for something earlier, but we are firmly scheduled for the 14th. Say what? That's right--the FOURTEENTH. As in, we will go in next Friday night to get this show on the road and have a baby next Saturday. If you didn't just shed a little tear like a pollution hating Native American on the side of the road, that can only be because you don't realize that that is a WEEEEEEK from now! I know, I know. A week isn't that long. Think of how many weeks you've already completed. Enjoy time with your husband. Catch up on your sleep.
Stop it. Just stop it, right now.
There is some consolation, though, in this whole 'still pregnant, gonna keep on being pregnant' thing. Like any modern pregnant person, I've learned how to bend Google to my will by asking a question three or four different ways until I get the answer that I want. I needed to hear that there is some really great reason to go all the way to forty weeks and possibly beyond. Lo and behold, there is. Babies born at term, as in 40 weeks and later, are shown to, statistically, have lower risk of breathing problems and SIDs, and less trouble breastfeeding. I didn't invent this stuff. It was actually in reputable journals. So, even though I threatened to change his name to Myrtle Suzette if doesn't come immediately, I guess he's making good use of his time.
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